


War of Hearts

by StarWitness42



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M, but you don't really need to know the show/books to get this, shadowhunters au, supernatural mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarWitness42/pseuds/StarWitness42
Summary: A string of mysterious deaths have been plaguing the Downworld, and Aaron Dingle, next in line to be High Warlock of London, is in charge of the case. When things hit a dead end, he crosses paths with Robert Sugden, Shadowhunter, and the two of them do their best to stop a war from breaking out in the Shadow World. Will they succeed?(This is a lite Shadowhunters AU. You don't need to know the source material to get this as I'm basically just stealing the parts I like ;))
Relationships: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden
Comments: 257
Kudos: 297





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So hi! This is a Shadowhunters AU, but it's a really lite AU so you don't really need to know the show/books to get this. Just know that Shadowhunters are half human / half angel people that sort of protect and police the Downworld (where all the warlocks, werewolves, faeries and vampires live). And the rest will be plain from the story. Enjoy!
> 
> Edited to add: Shadowhunters have some super human abilities, thanks to the angel blood, but most of their special abilities come from runes that are essentially tattooed on their entire bodies that, when activated, can give them enhanced agility, speed, accuracy, intellect, etc....

Aaron knows what he’s gonna find long before he sets foot in the warehouse. He’s been here before, hasn’t he? Seven missing Downworlders, seven dead bodies, and absolutely zero leads over the last two months. 

Yeah, he knows _exactly_ what he’s gonna find. 

It doesn’t make it any easier when he sees her body, laid out like a sacrifice on the cold cement, moonlight streaking across her from the high, shattered windows in the warehouse’s walls. Nothing can help the rage flooding his veins, weighing his body down more and more with each step he takes towards her. 

When Adam told him she was missing, Aaron had felt nothing but the cold certainty that this is how it would end. That he’d find her - Aaron _always_ finds who he’s looking for - and that she’d be as dead as he expected. But now, as he kneels in a pool of her blood, close enough to smell the metal in the air, he’s buried under a crippling sense of shame. 

He should have been able to stop this. 

He should have been able to save her. 

Her face is untouched, just like the others. If he didn’t look anywhere else, he might be able to fool himself into believing that she’s just resting after a night on the town like back in the good old days, her hand in his, Adam’s arm around his shoulder. 

There are flecks of blood on her cheeks, though, her hair matted under her head. And even though her eyes are still open, all of the vibrancy that Aaron remembers is gone. 

They’re milky white now, cold as the frozen, February air outside. And they’re all Aaron can manage to look at. Because he knows what he’ll see if he looks to the side, knows that anything left of her from the neck down will be torn to shreds as if by some wild beast Aaron’s never come into contact with in the seventy-eight years he’s been alive. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tears hot on his cheeks as he reaches out and tucks a stray chunk of hair behind her ear. “I’m _so_ sorry.” And then he leans down, presses his lips to her forehead, and yanks himself away from her. 

The phone only rings twice before she picks up, her voice shaking from the worry as she says, “Aaron, is that y-you?” 

“Yeah,” he chokes out like someone just crushed his windpipe. “It’s me, Moira. I… I found her. I found Holly.” 

~*~

“Now that was good,” Robert groans as he rolls to the side and flops onto his back, his skin slick with sweat and his heart pounding like he’s just run a marathon or two. “But then again, it always is, right?” 

He tips back onto his side, swipes Alicia’s hair out of her face and smiles what he believes is his most winning one. 

It’s the one that got her into bed in the first place all those months ago, isn’t it? So there’s got to be some sort of magic to it. 

“Is it bad that I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or yourself?” she asks on a laugh, her face scrunching up like some sort of adorable little woodland creature as Robert leans in so he can press his lips back to hers. 

“Why does it have to be one or the other?” he whispers into her mouth. But for all the charm a comment like that would usually possess, she still shoves him back with another laugh. 

“You are insufferable, Robert Sugden, and I don’t know why I even bother with you.” 

Robert laughs himself now, a deep bellow of it as he lies flat on his back again and looks up at the fairy lights strung across the ceiling of her bedroom. 

Fairy lights in a faerie’s bedroom. How original. 

“I think we just established why you _bother_ with me,” he says, trying to inject some sense of allure back into their interaction in the hopes of securing another round. But before he can see if his tactic has worked, his phone buzzes loudly from the floor next to the bed. 

“Duty calls,” she sing-songs in response to the sound. And Robert would say _screw it_ and grab another condom if Alicia weren’t already sitting up on her side of the bed and reaching down for the dress he’d practically ripped off her an hour ago. 

Clearly they’re in different places right now, so he follows her direction, sits up with another groan, and reaches for where his jeans lay pooled on the floor. 

“Someone better have died,” he grumbles once he’s picked up the call. 

It’s Nicola. It’s always Nicola. Which means he has carte blanche where prat-ness is concerned. 

“Well you might if you don’t get your arse back to the Institute post haste,” she says, half whisper like she’s trying not to be overheard by their “superiors” even though he can’t remember the last time a superior came within spitting distance of their poxy little office. 

“Post haste, Nic? Really? Just… bugger off, alright? I’m having a break.” 

“Not anymore, you’re not. There’s been another Downworlder death. Your father wants you back here to log it-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. Post haste. Can’t you just do it for me?” he practically whines, taking a peek over his shoulder as he watches Alicia’s glorious back fall undercover to the sparkly purple dress that’s been his downfall on more than one occasion. 

“I could,” she says, piquing Robert’s hopes before she adds, “But I won’t. Get back here, lover boy. Now.” 

She summarily cuts the call short, the line going dead in his ear. And sometimes Robert hates even the idea of responsibilities. 

It would be different if he were Vic or Andy, still out demon hunting for a living. Keeping the peace, protecting the Downworld from itself, that sort of thing. But ever since his dad found out about his little penchant for sleeping with their constituents, both male and female, he’s been on desk duty, saddled with Nicola and her juice cleanses. 

He doesn’t get what the big deal is. So he bangs a faerie every now and again, falls into bed with a werewolf or two. If all Shadowhunters knew what he did, if all of them could see what the magic of the Downworld has to offer… 

Well, let’s just say he wouldn’t be the only one riding a desk. Or a warlock. 

“I’ve got to go,” he says apologetically as he turns to face Alicia. But even though he’s still sitting there starkers, she’s already got her bloody shoes on. 

“Yeah, I figured as much. Don’t forget to lock up on your way out.” 

And then she’s gone without so much as a kiss goodbye. 

He shrugs. It’s not like he hadn’t already gotten his fill of kisses from her earlier. 

The Institute is buzzing when he gets back, the main hub positively alive with activity now that it’s gone midnight. But none of the energy is for what he’s got going on. 

The Institute is more concerned with _policing_ the Downworld than helping it. Which is just fine with Robert because it means once he makes his way back to his and Nicola’s office - third floor, out of everyone’s ways - he can put his feet up and get some peace and quiet. 

“What took you so long?” she hisses at him as soon as he walks in, practically spitting fire because nothing is ever at a normal speed where Nic is concerned. 

“I got some coffee, took a stroll in the park, what does it matter, Nic? I’m here now, aren’t I? So tell me what’s happening,” he says as he literally kicks back in his chair, thumping his boots on Nicola’s desk in a way he knows she hates. 

“There’s another victim, that’s what’s happening. A werewolf this time, from the Barton pack.”

Robert sits up a little straighter at that, placing his feet flat on the ground and leaning closer towards the screen to see the footage they have of the pack members carrying a dead body from a nondescript warehouse downtown. 

“Do we know who it is?” he asks, his voice sober all of a sudden, his throat tightening long before Nicola says, “Word on the street is that it’s Moira’s daughter. Holly.” 

The name hits him like a punch to the chest. Not because Robert has any particular feelings for Holly - they’ve slept together a handful of times and that’s it, nothing more. But this is the first time one of the deaths that’s come across their screens is someone he knows. Intimately. And he can’t help but feel a bit like someone’s just walked over his grave.

He rises from his seat immediately, slipping back into the black leather jacket he’d just taken off, and cringes at the motherly way Nicola snaps, “And where do you think you’re going?” 

The _young man_ isn’t said, but it sure as hell is implied. 

“I’m going out to investigate, Nic. To do some _actual_ work. Fancy joining me?” 

She scowls at him. “It’s not our job to investigate, Robert. All we’re supposed to do is log the deaths, keep track of the tallys, and wait for our superiors-”

“To realize they don’t give a shit about a few dead Downworlders. I know what our job description is, Nic. I just… refuse to accept it.” 

He smiles at her, the crooked one that's gotten more than a few people into his bed, before he pats her on the back and walks out of the room to the sound of her voice squawking his name and telling him to, “Get back here or I’ll-”

The door slamming shut thankfully cuts off the rest of her sentence, even though he knows she’s right. His job stipulates that he’s not to interfere with Downworld investigations. That the deaths belong to them, not him. But he still can’t get the image of Holly out of his head, of deep blue bed sheets and a smile that needed to be teased out of her at the best of times. 

He knows what’ll happen if he follows orders. Her name will get put in an ever-growing file before it’s lost to the flipping ether. And sure, maybe Moira and her pack will be able to figure it out, find her killer, get some justice. But there have been almost ten cases in under two months with the same M.O. and still, the Downworld has done nothing to fix it. So maybe they need a little help. 

Maybe they need him. 

~*~

The mood is subdued when Aaron sets foot in Butlers Pub. The front is still full of punters, Downworlders and humans alike having a casual drink on a Friday night. But he can feel the grief oozing out of the back room like a thick sludge, coating everything it touches. 

He’d waited with Holly until the Barton boys came, Pete and Ross with weedy little Finn following in tow. But he hadn’t been able to watch as they carried her away. It was all just a little too much for him, the reality he’s found himself stuck in. And so he’d hid outside until he knew they were gone before doing his own sweep of the crime scene. 

The next step is to tell Cain what he found, or rather what he didn’t find. But instead of being able to find solace in Cain’s penthouse, away from the blood and the death and the misery, Aaron finds himself here, the only place Cain would be on the night Moira’s daughter died.

He nods at Matty behind the bar as he heads towards the back, tries to offer him even the smallest hint of a smile. But it’s obvious Matty can tell Aaron’s heart isn’t in it. It’s written all over Matty’s face, lines of pity etched into every corner as he tips his head before turning to the next customer waiting at the bar.

He stands outside the door for what feels like hours, his hand on the doorknob, his heart pounding in his throat. But eventually he turns the knob and pushes the door open because he _has to._ It’s his job. And even if it weren’t, it would be his responsibility. 

Immortality means watching the people you love die, over and over. But it never - _never_ \- gets any easier to stomach. 

There are about a dozen members of the pack spread throughout a room generally used for private parties. For pack weddings and pack wakes like joy and sorrow are just tied together by a long string. A fact that reminds him of how he used to joke with Holly about which one of them would be getting married first.

_I’ve gone almost eighty years without getting tied down,_ Aaron used to tell her. _I think this is a bet you’re gonna lose._

She’d always just laugh at him, though, as if she’d known something he didn’t. Her eyes dancing with the life that’s been so cruelly snuffed out of them as she kissed him on the cheek and punched him on the arm before walking away with a flaming skip in her step. 

God, he misses her. She hasn’t even been gone much longer than a day and he still misses the bones of her. 

She’s lying on a table in the middle of the room now, her body covered by a sheet that her mother is currently petting, crying over like her tears will somehow bring her back. And Aaron is lost in the image for a second before something else catches his eye. 

He looks over in time to see his uncle just staring at him, his arms around Moira, holding her steady as he watches Aaron, looking for the cracks in the facade. Aaron just straightens his posture, though, fixes his jacket and tips his head to the side to let Cain know that he’s fine. That business comes first, just like always. 

Cain kisses the side of Moira’s head, whispers something in her ear before motioning for Adam to come and take over. And even though Adam seems to be in just as bad a condition as his mother, he still moves quickly to hold her up as Cain makes his way across the room to the corner Aaron’s claimed as his own. 

“Is it clean?” Cain asks as soon as he’s hunkered down with Aaron. That’s the first question out of his mouth. Not _are you alright_ or _do you need to talk,_ but _is it clean._

A normal person might take offense to that, might find the coldness in Cain’s inquiry to be callous. But Aaron appreciates the hell out of it because the last thing he wants to do right now is grieve. He’ll save that for later. Sometime next century, maybe, when the cumulative weight of his ghosts becomes too heavy to bear. 

“There’s no trace of her being there,” he responds, professionally, clinically, like this is just any other investigation as his eyes struggle to look anywhere but at the body lying on the table. 

Cain claps a hand onto his shoulder, gives him a weak smile before saying, “Good lad,” like Aaron is still some kid, not a warlock only a few decades younger than him. 

“Did ya find anything?” 

Aaron shakes his head as the shame of earlier presses through his veins once again. “Nothing useful, but I thought I might go back there, check the rest of the warehouse, see if I can find a hint of what this thing might be.” 

Cain is about to respond to him when Moira’s voice fills the room, crying out Aaron’s name in a way that’s so painful, so raw, it might as well be scraped all the way down to bone. 

She leaves Holly’s side at that, makes her way slowly over to Aaron, tears streaming down her face, before collapsing into his arms. 

She hugs him so tight that he can’t help but be reminded of his mum, of the way she used to drag him towards her and hold onto him for dear life. 

She’s been dead for almost forty years, but he can still feel her arms around him every time he closes his eyes. 

“Thank you for bringing her home,” Moira sobs into his shoulder. “Thank you for bringing my baby back to me.” 

“C’mon, love, let’s go get some rest,” Cain soothes as he peels Moira’s shaking form off of Aaron before turning to Aaron and mouthing the word _later_ at him. 

They’ll talk later. They always talk later. 

He’s just starting to breathe properly again after Moira practically choked the life out of him when someone steps in front of him and says, weakly, “Promise me we’re gonna find out who did this.” 

It’s Adam, his face carved in agony as he stares at Aaron and begs him to solve a problem he’s beginning to worry is unsolvable. 

Still, he hardens his expression in response, grits his teeth and narrows his eyes before saying, “We’re gonna find out who did this, and we’re gonna put ‘em in the ground, I promise you that.” 

Adam nods, then crumples into Aaron’s arms the same way Moira had. Only this time, there’s no one to pull him off. 

~*~

There’s nothing at the warehouse. Robert’s checked the footage a dozen times to make sure that he’s got the right one but still, there’s nothing to be found. Which either means the killer is good at covering its tracks or the Downworlders are even better at protecting their own.

He’s going to bet on the latter. 

The lack of evidence doesn’t stop him from looking, though. From scouring every inch of the place because he’s here, isn’t he? So he might as well at least pretend to do his job. 

That’s what he’s doing when he feels it, he’s just _doing his job_ when all of a sudden he feels a hand around his neck, shoving him backwards. 

The funny thing is, though, there’s no actual _hand_ anywhere near him. His efforts to dislodge the grip prove completely futile, his fingers merely grasping at thin air as his back slams hard into the wall of the warehouse, expelling all the air from his lungs. 

_Warlock,_ he thinks as the pressure on his throat keeps any fresh air from entering his abused lungs. It has to be a warlock. But no matter where he looks, he doesn’t see a single thing out of place. 

The thought crosses his mind that he may very well die here, now, in this dank smelling hell hole. And that notion alone causes him to start cackling like a mad man. 

He doesn’t have enough oxygen to breathe, but apparently he’s got enough to _laugh._

“What’s so funny?” a voice reaches him from somewhere out in the black. And Robert might feel threatened by the… well… _threatening nature_ of the voice if not for the fact that its owner’s curiosity has made him loosen his grip on Robert’s throat. 

He sucks in lungfuls of damp air, coughs his way back to life before groaning. 

“Nothing, mate, just always pictured myself dying under more glamorous circumstances, that’s all.” 

The voice scoffs. “As if I’d be daft enough to kill a Shadowhunter. What do you think, I wanna set off a civil war or summat?” 

The warlock has a point. He evidently has a face too, and a body as he walks slowly into the light, his grip still tight enough on Robert’s body to keep him pinned exactly where he is. And as soon as he slips into view, there’s only one word circling through Robert’s mind: 

Fit. 

“You’re Aaron Dingle, aren’t you?” he asks, because he’d know that stubble-covered jawline anywhere. 

“You’re the heir apparent to the High Warlock of London and, rumour has it, the strongest warlock this side of the Atlantic, if not in the whole world.”

Aaron cocks his head at him, but he doesn’t look intrigued. He just looks annoyed, maybe a little bored, even. Which, based on most of the pictures Robert has seen, is a pretty standard look on him. 

“What, I’m supposed to wet my pants because you know who I am? You’re a Shadowhunter. It’s your job to know your enemies.” 

Robert balks. Or as much as he can when his entire body, head to booted-foot, is plastered to a cement wall. 

“Since when were we enemies?”

Aaron takes a few measured steps towards him, his distaste for Shadowhunters clearly written all over his face, his arms, his chest. He’s got a really nice chest, but that’s beside the point. He hates Shadowhunters, that much is plainly clear. And, oh look! Robert just so happens to _be_ a Shadowhunter. Lucky him. 

“You’re a Sugden, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice all low and gravelly and… yeah… bloody _fit._

It’s hard to preen when your body is immobile, but Robert does his best anyway. It’s all in the look. The smolder. The one raised eyebrow and the half-cocked grin as he says, “Ah, so you know who I am as well.”

Aaron makes this disgusted little _pfft_ sound that might be insulting if Robert were one to care what people think of him. 

“A Shadowhunter sleeps his way through half of the Downworld and you tend to notice.” 

“Well doesn’t that prove that I’m not an enemy?” 

Aaron actually looks affronted at the suggestion, which, frankly, is quite cute. 

“What, because you shag a few dozen faeries? It proves nothing but that you like to slum it every now and again. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, which, incidentally, is very far. I could show you if you like?”

Robert has to literally bite his tongue to stop himself from telling Aaron how sexy that sounded. 

“In case it passed your notice,” Aaron adds, his grip tightening on Robert’s body, his phantom fingers digging into Robert’s skin. “I’ve got the upper hand here. So maybe you should start telling me what the hell you’re doing here.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been pinned to a wall by a fit warlock. I could literally do this all day.”

Robert lowers his voice, tips his head down, and takes his chances. 

“Or all night.” 

Aaron looks like he wants to throttle him, so Robert is going to call that a maybe as Aaron’s disgust level kicks up a few notches. 

“Does that actually work for you?” he asks, his tone indicating that he really is curious about Robert’s technique. 

He shrugs. Or mentally at least. His body still isn’t really his own. 

“I have a pretty high success rate. It would be ungentlemanly of me to elaborate.”

Aaron actually growls at that, moving to turn his back on Robert and probably disappear into the night. And for some reason, Robert really doesn’t want that to happen. So he calls out, “I’m here because of Holly!” and lets the chips fall where they may. 

Aaron turns back around slowly, his face full of murder as he says lowly, “What did you just say?” 

“Holly was… I knew her,” Robert says, making sure that his voice is as respectful as possible because everyone knows of the Dingle-Barton connection. 

Aaron just crosses his arms over his chest at that, narrows his eyes so they’re practically slits and says, “So you shagged her?” 

“Does it matter? We were mates, of a sort, and me and my partner have been tracking the murders and I just… I just wanted to help, okay? I just thought maybe I could help.” 

“So they put their best on the case, did they?” Aaron says all snootily. Which is just plain rude, given how hard Robert is trying here. 

“You don’t believe I can handle it?” 

Aaron laughs, a sharp bark of it before saying, “You’re just a pup.” 

“I’m older than you are, mate,” Robert vomits out before he realizes that no, that’s actually not true in any way, shape, or form. That no matter how young Aaron _looks_ \- twenty-three maybe, when he stopped aging? - he’s well older than that in actual years. 

“You reckon?” Aaron responds, and Robert just tips his head back and forth a few times in the unspoken representation of _yeah, you’ve got a point._ But Robert has a point, too. One that goes something like, “I can help you.” 

“Why would you?” Aaron asks, the bite in his words lessening for some miraculous reason. 

“Because it’s my job.” 

Aaron stares at him for a few long moments, tracks his eyes over every inch of Robert’s body like he’s trying to measure him up before saying, sarkily, “What, with the whole might of the Clave behind you?” 

“Yes,” Robert replies instantly, putting as much confidence into his voice as he can muster. 

But Aaron still calls, “Bullshit. The Clave don’t give a toss about a buncha dead Downworlders.”

“Still,” Robert tries, not accepting but also not denying what Aaron just said. “You could do a lot worse than me.” 

Aaron studies him again, his eyes dragging over Robert’s skin like blunt nails before all of a sudden, the pressure that’s been holding him up releases. 

Robert falls to his knees and gasps for a proper breath, feels freedom return to his muscles, and he’s so overwhelmed by all of those sensations that he almost doesn’t catch Aaron’s snarky little, “I’ll think about it,” as he disappears back into the shadows. 

But hell, at least it’s a start. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadowhunter Vocab: 
> 
> The Accords: Every fifteen years, members of the Downworld and Shadowhunters sign something called the Accords, which are basically the rules both sides have to live by to keep peace. In this story, it’s a signing year. 
> 
> Runes: I mentioned this last time as an addition, but Shadowhunters are covered in runes tattooed to their bodies. The runes, when activated, give Shadowhunters their superhuman abilities. So basically the takeaway is that Robert is covered in tats ;)

Aaron hates libraries. Scratch that. Aaron hates _books._ The smell of them, the dust in his nose, the weight in his hands, the tediousness of trying to find what you’re looking for while digging through a haystack for a bloody needle. 

He loves the Internet Age, loves being able to know something with the single click of a button. But the type of information he’s looking for won’t be found like that. Which is why he’s here, in the library of the leader of the London vampire clan. Because he needs books and because vampires are nothing if not collectors. 

“You really need to digitize your collection,” he says as he senses Ed walk into the room behind him. 

“If I did that, I’d never see you again,” Ed replies with a laugh to go along with the warm smile plastered across his face when Aaron pulls his nose out of his book long enough to look at him. 

“I’m sure that would be a great loss,” Aaron replies drolly, taking the offered cup of tea from Ed’s outstretched hand and watching over the rim as Ed settles into the chair across the desk. 

The tea is perfect. Hell, _everything_ about Ed is perfect. 

“And yet you still dumped me,” Ed says playfully, like he can read Aaron’s mind or summat. 

He can’t. He just likes to pretend he can. It’s annoying. 

“It’s been over forty years, mate. Are you ever gonna let that go?” 

Ed leans back in his seat, takes a long sip of his tea, then winks. 

“I’ll let you know in another forty. How’s that sound?”

Aaron groans. Loudly. Then returns to scouring the pages of his book. 

They stay like that until their tea is gone, the silence of Ed’s massive library echoing in Aaron’s ears as he desperately searches for some indication of who - or what - has been killing his fellow Downworlders. 

“No luck?” Ed asks eventually, his voice softer than before, like this time he doesn’t want to disturb. 

Aaron snaps the book shut on the desk, runs his hand hard down his face and says, “It’s been two weeks since Holly, three more deaths, and I still feel like I’m no closer than day one.” 

“You’ll figure it out,” Ed replies in the same voice he uses any time Aaron is repeatedly punching a proverbial brick wall. And it’s weird, having someone outside his family having that kind of faith in him. But he guesses that’s just Ed all over. 

Stupid as the day is long. 

“So how are things otherwise?” Ed asks a few moments later. 

Aaron just raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Come on, Aaron. Surely you have five minutes to talk about something other than the case. If you don’t take breaks from it, you’re liable to miss something that’s staring you right in the face.”

Aaron’s eyebrow goes up even higher, causing Ed to put his hands up in surrender and laugh. 

“Fine, fine, we won’t talk about you. How about Cain? How’s he holding up?” 

“You mean with the Accords, yeah?” Ed nods. “Well, Cain is Cain, which means-”

“Which means he’s having a blast,” Ed interrupts with another laugh. 

“Oh yeah. There’s nothing Cain loves more than government mandated diplomacy. It’s why I’m on this case and not him. Because he’s got… other things to do.” 

He’d almost said _better,_ as in _Cain has better things to do_ , but Aaron knows that’s not true. Even though no warlocks have been lumped into the death toll yet, he knows this murder spree is killing Cain inside, the same way it’s killing Aaron. 

“That’s not why,” Ed says quietly, but Aaron hasn’t followed him so he quirks his eyebrow again and nods his head slightly, prompting Ed to continue. 

“That’s not why you’re on the case. It’s not because you’re second best or something, Aaron. You’re working this case because of your power. Your intellect. Your cleverness. You’re working this case because you’re the only one capable of solving it.”

They stare at each other for a few long seconds, giving Aaron time to absorb the praise. But just like always, something in his mind rejects it. 

It’s why he winks, why he plasters a sly smile onto his face, and it’s why he says, “If you’re trying to get into my pants, Roberts, you can forget it.” Because he doesn’t want to hear what Ed’s saying. 

“Right,” Ed says like he was expecting that all along. “I’ll leave you to it.” But for some reason Aaron can’t bear to let him walk out with that disappointed tone in his voice. 

So he calls out, “I’ve been meaning to ask you summat,” before Ed can get out of the room. 

Ed turns to face him, brushing down the lapels of his pristine three-piece, pin-striped suit. “And what’s that?” 

“Does your lot have a dress code or summat? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of your clan outside of formal wear.” 

Ed smiles, the beaming one Aaron used to love even if he couldn’t get himself to love the man behind it _._

“You know, Aaron, it wouldn’t kill you to dress up every now and again. Maybe wear a little eyeliner.” 

“I don’t wear eyeliner.” 

Ed laughs so hard he snorts. “You’re forgetting I knew you in the seventies, mate. Ripped jeans. Leather jacket. And, oh yes, copious amounts of eyeliner.”

Aaron sits up straighter, tries to keep his expression serious as he says, “I thought we agreed never to speak of that again.” 

Instead of continuing the joke, though, Aaron’s words make something in Ed’s face fall. Make his voice sound quiet and almost weak when he says, “There’s a lot we agreed never to speak of.” 

Aaron wants to say something, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is air. And Ed apparently takes that as all the answer he needs. 

“Good luck with your search, Aaron. I know you’ll find what you’re looking for. You always do.” 

And with that, he’s gone. And Aaron is once again left with his dusty books and his crippling self-doubt. 

~*~

“What fresh hell is this?” Robert asks as he leans his arms on the bannister overlooking the open area below where most of the “important” Institute work takes place. 

It looks like there’s a party going on there now, a large congregation of people filed in amongst the slew of giant monitors that Robert would kill to have just one of in his office. And at the center of the crowd is… 

Bloody hell. 

“Your brother bagged himself another demon,” Nicola explains as he watches Vic wrap her arms around Andy’s neck like he’s some sort of conquering hero, his father not far behind the pair of them, patting Andy’s back and beaming in pride. 

Robert drags his eyes to Nicola and groans in disgust. 

“Not you too? You can put the heart eyes away, Nic. It’s not that big of a deal.” 

“Not that big of a deal?” she squawks. “Not that big of a deal?! It was threatening _children,_ Robert. He saved _lives_ tonight. Countless human lives.” 

“I’m sure he did,” Robert grumbles, but all he gets in return this time is a smack on his arm. 

“Just because you decided to leave the front, that doesn’t give you the right to crap all over Andy’s accomplishments. You’re so jealous? Why don’t you get back out there and prove you’re the better hunter.” 

She walks off in a huff at that, flipping her hair over her shoulder to show him just how frustrating she finds him to be. The words _if only it were that simple_ cycling through his head as he watches her go. 

When he turns his gaze back to the crowd, his eyes immediately lock with Vic’s. Which is why he’s hissing the word, “shit,” under his breath and trying to scurry away a second later. 

She must use her speed rune to catch up with him, because a few seconds later his sister is linking arms with him and strolling down the hallway like she hasn’t got a care in the world. 

“So when are you going to come back into the field with us?” she asks with a flaming song in her voice. 

“You know I like my job on the third floor, Vic,” he forces out past the bile in his throat. 

“But things are so much more exciting out there!” she exclaims as if he didn’t already know that full well. “And Joe is more like a third wheel than an actual team member. Please, Robert? Won’t you just think about it?” 

He makes the mistake of looking down into his sister’s eyes. They’re something out of a Disney movie when they stare back at him, like if Bambi and Cinderella morphed into some sort of weird deer-person creature. And they make him want to just spill out every hidden truth he’s been holding in ever since his father caught him at a hotel with a male vampire. 

_I’m bisexual,_ he wants to say to her. _I like sleeping with Downworlders too, and I’d still be a demon hunter if our father wasn’t a bigoted arsehole._ But the problem is, Robert isn’t the only one that gets Vic’s Disney eyes. Andy does too, and so does their father. And just because their dad is completely wrecked for him, that doesn’t mean he wants to sabotage him for Vic. 

They don’t have a mother anymore. Their dad is all she has left. 

So he says, “Sure, Vic, I’ll think about it.” And then he unlinks their arms so he can wrap his over her shoulders, pull her close into his side whilst pressing his lips to the top of her head because she’s his sister. She’s one of the few people on this planet he cares about more than himself. So what’s the harm in giving her a little false hope? With any luck, by tomorrow, she’ll forget he even said anything on the matter. 

Yeah. 

With any luck. 

As if Robert’s ever had any of that. 

~*~

Aaron decides to walk home from Ed’s, get himself some of that overhyped fresh air everyone’s always talking about, see if it’ll clear his head, give him a better perspective on what he’s investigating. 

It doesn’t. Nothing seems to these days. And for all the books Aaron has just skimmed, he’s still no closer to figuring out what this thing is. And until he can find that out, how the hell is he supposed to track it? Catch it? Make it pay the way he promised Adam it would? 

He just needs one break, one thing to go right in this case and he knows it’ll all just landslide from there. But it’s hard, when he’s working things alone, even though that’s the way he usually likes it. _Living in a vacuum,_ Cain always says like he thinks it’s funny even though he knows better than anyone why Aaron never lets anybody in. 

It’s when he’s thinking of all that - vacuums and walls so high no one’s ever been able to climb them - when he feels the distinct presence of somebody following him. 

It’s nothing overtly tangible, not really. It’s a tickle at the back of his neck, a slight buzzing in his ears, a very faint uptick in his pulse. A press on the magical protections he wears day in and day out because there’s a supernatural creature killing Downworlders for the last couple months and Aaron doesn’t really wanna become its next victim. 

That’s not what’s following him now, though. He can smell angel blood from five hundred metres out. And so instead of preparing himself to fight, he walks calmly down an alleyway, pulls out a cigarette that he keeps meaning to quit, and lights it like it’s just any other night in any other place. 

He takes a deep drag, feels the nicotine spread through his veins, and keeps his back to the end of the alley until he can practically feel the Shadowhunter breathing down his neck. 

He drops the cigarette and spins around in one fluid move, grabbing the Shadowhunter by the lapels of its leather jacket and pinning it to the nearest wall before he even takes another breath. 

The Shadowhunter just laughs, the image of his face clearing in Aaron’s vision as he says, “We really have to stop meeting like this.” 

“Sugden,” Aaron hisses before pushing him even harder into the wall. 

Robert just smiles at him, a crooked thing that’s probably supposed to look charming as he tips a fake hat off his head and says the word, “Dingle,” in a way that is remarkably less hissy than what Aaron had to offer. 

“Why are you following me?” 

Robert licks his lips, sucking the top one into his mouth before raising his hands to rest in the crooks of Aaron’s elbows. He doesn’t try to push him off, though. Instead, it’s almost like he’s holding him in place as he says:

“I thought I’d go see if king Ed would let me take a peek at his books, see if there was anything there to be found with regards to this case. But then I saw you walking out of his building and I thought to myself: Self, this is a far better option, isn’t it? Go to the source, right? So I thought I’d practice my Shadowhunter tailing skills and see where you were off to.” 

“You’re not very good at it,” Aaron replies matter-of-factly, motioning with his head to where he’s still got Robert pinned to the wall. 

“And I reckon neither are you,” Robert counters with that same smarmy smile that Aaron is starting to get used to. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Robert shrugs, or as best he can with the way Aaron is still pinning him to brick. His voice all casual and relaxed when he asks, “Why aren’t you using your magic?” 

Aaron twists his fists in leather and shoves Robert harder into the wall. “Why aren’t you trying to shove me off?” 

Robert smiles again at that, this time all _cat that got the cream_ as he leans in and says right into Aaron’s ear, “Maybe I like a little bit of rough.” 

Something shoots through Aaron’s system at Robert’s words, a strange sort of heat that makes him release Robert immediately and take a half dozen steps back. But all Robert does in response to Aaron’s actions is laugh. Not mocking, though, just soft, secretive in a way that makes Aaron’s fingertips tingle. 

“You know, you’ve got a lot of attitude for someone that’s only 5’8”,” Robert says as he fixes his jacket and stares Aaron down in a way that makes something in him tremble. 

Aaron doesn’t tremble, though. Aaron _bites._ So he schools his face into something stern and unflinching as he says, “I’m 5’10”, actually.” 

Robert drags his eyes down Aaron’s body, pausing at the middle on his way back up before smiling yet again in that insufferable way as he says, “Yeah, sure you are.” 

Aaron crosses his arms over his puffed out chest, his eyes thin slits when he replies, “At least ninety percent of my body mass is not made up of an overinflated ego.” 

Robert scoffs. “Overinflated? I’ll have you know that I can back up every inch of it. And trust me. There’s a lot of inches.” 

Robert winks at him at that, but despite Aaron’s current level of disgust, his traitorous lips begin to pull up at the corners. Which is why he turns around, pulls out another cigarette, and tries to walk away from Robert. 

“You’re disgusting,” he says over his shoulder as he hears the pounding of Robert’s footfalls jogging to keep up with him. 

“And you love it.” 

Aaron turns around and drags his eyes over Robert’s body, pausing the same way Robert had before saying, “No, I really don’t.” 

He takes a drag from his cigarette to hide another smile, but Robert catches this one, his face positively flaming _beaming_ from the discovery as he asks, “Did you just smile?” 

“No.” 

“Em, I think you just did, mate,” Robert counters as he almost dances his way in front of Aaron. “I swear I saw a smile.” 

Aaron takes a deep, calming breath. “Laughing with someone and laughing _at_ them are not the same thing.” 

Robert’s eyebrows rise practically all the way to his perfect flipping hairline. 

“Oh now you’re laughing are you? Feels a bit like a step up to me.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes so hard they feel like they’re gonna slip into the back of his head. His voice tired and strained as he asks, “Why are you here, Sugden?” 

The smile falls quickly from Robert’s face, being replaced by a look that’s all business, as far as Aaron can tell. 

“I told you. You’re the one with all the answers, and I want to help you find some more.”

“Why?” Aaron asks after another long pull from his cigarette. 

“Honestly?” Robert asks as he shoves his hands deep into his jean pockets. 

Aaron just nods, prompting him to continue. 

“I’m sick of my brother getting all the praise. Figure if I can help solve this case, it might get my dad to stop looking at me like I’m a total failure.” 

Aaron pauses for a few long moments, half to process the clear, unexpected honesty Robert just served up, and half to figure out what he wants to do next. 

In the end, it’s not that hard of a choice. 

He tosses the cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with the tip of his boot before reaching out to Robert and saying, “Take my hand.” 

“Why?” Robert asks, but the question is swallowed up by the sound of a portal opening up behind Aaron. 

“Because I wanna show you something!” he shouts over the noise. But before Aaron can even finish the sentence, Robert is grabbing his hand and nodding. 

It’s just that simple. 

~*~

Robert has been through portals before. One time, a female warlock whose name he’s sadly forgotten took him through one on a date all the way to Tokyo just because Robert said he liked Japanese food. So he’s been here before, _many_ times. 

Something about this small trip to the other side of town leaves Robert’s skin buzzing, though. And he’s not entirely sure if it’s the portal that does it or the feel of Aaron’s calloused fingertips wrapped around his own. 

_Business, Sugden,_ he reminds himself. This is just _business._ A way to get his father to take him seriously again, a way to get back on active duty. Everything he does here is _business,_ and that’s the way it’s going to stay.

“This is the warehouse where Holly died,” Robert says as he looks around the expansive space. “I’ve been over this place a dozen times. There’s… there’s nothing here.” 

His eyes land on Aaron when he finishes his sentence, and for some reason, Aaron’s eyes seem to be bluer in the dark, like they’re shining only… they are, aren’t they? Shining a deep, crystal blue as he smiles something wicked that lights across Robert’s entire body like a brushfire as Aaron asks, “You reckon?” 

Robert opens his mouth to speak, but before any words can come out, Aaron tips his head back, takes a deep breath, and releases it into the air above him. 

Robert’s about to ask what the hell he’s doing, but then he sees it. The murder scene, recreating itself in a way that feels so real Robert almost believes he can reach out and touch it. 

“You can, you know,” Aaron says once he’s finished, his body crouched down now near Holly’s head so he can brush some hair out of her face. 

The hair wraps around Aaron’s fingers, tugs the way real hair would, and so Robert can’t help the way his voice shakes when he asks, “Is this… is this real?” 

Aaron nods but keeps his attention focused on Holly’s face. “Yeah… well, sorta at least. It’s as real as we’re gonna get outside the actual thing, but it’s enough to investigate.”

“How… how did you,” Robert starts to stammer as he tracks the trail of blood across the floor, showing how she’d been dragged from the doorway. 

“I have them all stored up here,” Aaron answers as he gets back to his feet, tapping one finger lightly on his temple, and Robert…

“You have all of the murders… stored in your mind… like this?” Robert asks in something akin to awe. 

Aaron just shrugs like that fact is not the amazing thing it is. “We needed to preserve the crime scenes somehow, and there’s no way the police wouldn’t have noticed if we left it here. Not many other options.” 

_You’re amazing,_ he thinks. The words are so close to slipping from his mouth, but he manages to stop them before they do. Not because he doesn’t think Aaron should know that, but because he’s fairly certain Aaron doesn't want to _hear that._

So instead, he slips back into business mode and asks, “So what do we know?” 

Aaron nods before stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets, his voice strong, _determined_ as he says, “There’s three possibilities.”

He pauses there, tipping his head and prompting Robert to say, “Go on.” 

“You ready for this?” Aaron asks with a small smile pricking up the corners of his lips. But before Robert can figure out what he’s asking, much less actually _answer him,_ Aaron is saying, “The first is the Baigujing.” 

Before Robert can recall the demon type to thought, Aaron nods and one appears in front of Robert. It’s skeletal mostly, easy to kill, and so Robert doesn’t even flinch when he pulls out his blades and begins hacking at the bones. 

“Baigujing like to pose their victims as an offering to their mother,” Aaron calls out over the sounds of Robert’s harsh breaths, the sound of snapping bones and the cries of the demon itself. But killing it is harder than Robert remembers. 

Every time a bone is broken, another one fuses in its place, overwhelming Robert until he’s flat on his back, staring at sharp teeth. And that’s when he remembers the way to kill a Baigujing is to basically ram a blade through its open, screeching mouth and up into its skull. 

Robert does that, and the demon disappears in a wisp, reminding him that it was never real to begin with. 

He rises onto his elbows, turns his head to look at Aaron and waits for him to nod and say, “The second is the Iblis,” as a human-sized cloud of roiling black smoke descends on Robert. 

“I flaming _hate_ Iblis demons,” Robert hisses out as, still from the flat of his back, he starts slashing out his blades at the demon. Every time it dissipates, though, it just grows back ten times thicker and Robert finds himself no longer liking Aaron’s little game here. 

“They leave the face intact,” Aaron says over the hiss of Robert’s blade. “They believe it’s the only way to properly retrieve the soul of the dead. But the rest of the body-”

Robert feels a stabbing pain in his gut, pressed out from the black smoke. But before he can check for the blood he’s sure is there, the demon and the pain vanish. 

“The last one is an Achaieral,” Aaron says quietly as he crouches down next to Holly again, running his fingers over the torn, bloody pieces of her body. And Robert doesn’t need a fake conjuring to remember exactly what Achaieral look like. 

Teeth like razors.

Blade-like talons. 

Wide black wings blotting out the night sky. 

The first demon he ever killed was an Achaieral, and he’s got the scars on his body to prove it. 

“You cared for her deeply,” Robert says instead as he crouches down next to Aaron, risking a hand in between Aaron’s shoulder blades to center him. Center them _both,_ if he’s honest. 

Aaron’s voice is so quiet Robert has to lean in to hear it when he says, “She was like a sister to me. It’s been… a long time since I had one of those.” 

There’s silence for a few moments, filled up with the ghosts of all the people they’ve lost before Aaron clears his throat and continues on. 

“I know you don’t care about dead Downworlders,” he says, his face still turned to Holly’s dead body. But before Robert can say anything, can deny what Aaron has seemingly convinced himself is the truth, Aaron holds a hand up to silence him. 

“You said it yourself. This is about your father, your reputation. But if I’m honest, I don’t give a toss about any of that. I just want my people to stop dying. And if you can help with that…”

He pauses, turns to face Robert finally, and it’s all laid bare in his expression. The sorrow. The desperation. The fear. All of them hitting Robert far more forcefully than any demon attack ever could as Aaron says, “If you can help with that, I’d be glad to have it.” 

Robert nods, because in the end, if Aaron’s glad to have it, Robert’s glad to give it. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab:
> 
> The Clave: I realized that I never really explained what The Clave was. They're basically like the government and police of the Shadow World. They're there technically to protect the Downworlders from demons and the like, but they really only care about themselves, for the most part. 
> 
> Healing rune: One of the runes that Shadowhunters have tattooed to their bodies is the healing rune. When activated, it can be used to heal various wounds on their body.
> 
> Oh, and warlocks can take the strength, basically, of people to help bolster their own spells.

There’s still a place set for Holly at the table, the same way there’s always been ever since Moira and Cain got together back when Holly was just a gobby pre-teen with an ill-advised crush on Aaron. 

She’s been gone almost a month now, but Moira keeps trying to act like she might just pop in for their weekly “family” tea, running between parties and always on the move like there was just some part of her that could never settle. 

She used to be into drugs, maybe still was when she died, who knows. Aaron remembers her coming to him once, desperate and shaking, begging for a potion to help her forget the pain that tore apart her insides on a daily basis. 

He said no. Of course he said no. She were fifteen at the time, and even if she weren’t, Aaron wasn’t dumb enough to get mixed up in that stuff, especially not on his own doorstep. She must’ve gotten something from somewhere, though, because when he saw her the next day she were right as rain. 

He never asked her where she got her gear. He probably should’ve. 

Her seat is still made up now, though, right between Aaron and Adam in a constant attempt to keep the pair of ‘em from messing about while there was food to be spilled. And every time he looks at it, he feels guilt wrap around his throat like a noose, inching ever tighter until he can hardly breathe from it. 

“It’s not your fault, lad,” Cain says quietly in his ear, his hand resting on Aaron’s shoulder in a way that almost makes him jump out of his skin as they both just stand there and stare at the empty space where Holly should be. 

“Then whose fault is it?” 

Cain shrugs, but his hand still stays in place when he says, “The Clave? They’re supposed to be protecting us, aren’t they? And where are they now? Tucked up in their high castle mucking about with paperwork.” 

He thinks of Robert, thinks of the days they’ve spent this past week going over each crime scene with a fine toothed comb. Thinks of telling Cain that the Clave might not care, but Robert does. 

This isn’t the time or place to bring him up, though - to admit to Cain that he’s getting help from a Shadowhunter, of all things. So he just nods in agreement and forces a small, grateful smile across his lips.

_Later,_ he promises himself. He’ll tell Cain everything later. 

Their meal is quiet, just like the last three. Even Adam’s usual bouncy nature is subdued, reined in like someone’s muzzled him while Matty looks like a flame that’s been snuffed out. And all Aaron can taste from Moira's pot roast is ash, the kind left behind by the funeral pyre they’d burned Holly on. 

“How are the negotiations going?” Moira asks in a clear attempt to inject some life into their evening, picking a topic that she knows will only wind Cain up. 

It’s a nice idea. Aaron just hopes it doesn’t backfire. 

“The Clave is useless,” Cain grumbles before taking a swig from his beer bottle. “That Sugden’s trying to pull a fast one on us, sneak some amendment into the Accords with a by-law attached to it that’ll take even more rights away from immigrant Downworlders, like he thinks we’re stupid or summat.”

Aaron swallows hard around a chunk of potato, the back of his neck tingling at the name Sugden even though he knows Cain isn’t talking about Robert but rather his father, head of the London Institute and all around prick with a power kink. 

“Well can’t you just veto it?” Adam asks, and the look Cain gives him tells everyone all they need to know about how stupid he thinks Adam’s question is. 

“We need the amendment and the bastard knows it. It provides critical support to Downworlders not associated with any pack or den. Without the amendment, those Downworlders are on their own, without protection even from the Clave.” 

“They don’t care about us and they never have,” Matty pipes in petulantly as he stabs absently at a carrot in the center of his plate. “Just take… well…”

He looks at Holly’s seat, drawing the eyes of everyone else at the table there as well. And any food he’s managed to get down tonight twists in Aaron’s stomach like it’s ready to revolt. 

“Matty’s right,” Adam adds. “Aaron should have the whole might of the Clave behind him. Ain’t that supposed to be what they’re there for? To protect us?” 

Cain makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “They don’t care about protecting us. All they care about is _controlling_ us.” 

And that’s it, isn’t it? The crux of the whole matter. A dozen of them die and it’s nothing to the Clave. A hundred more could die and it’d still be _nothing._ And the injustice of it all makes Aaron wanna scream. 

“I need a smoke,” Aaron says as he gets up from the table. “The roast was great, Moira. Thanks.” 

She smiles at him in this way that’s so sympathetic Aaron just wants to run, and so he does. Right out of the room and to a place where he can be alone and breathe for ten flipping seconds. 

The cold wind smacks him in the face as soon as he steps out onto Cain’s expansive balcony, twenty stories up and the whole of London spread out before him. All he can see is darkness, though, hiding in every corner. 

All he can see is the next dead Downworlder, spread out like an offering. 

The nicotine feels good as soon as it hits his lungs, causing the pounding in his head he’s been feeling since he showed up to back off a bit. But it doesn’t seem to calm his nerves any, the ones that have been spiking even worse for weeks now with every death he can’t prevent. 

He takes his mobile out at that, pulls up the last text from Robert and stares at the words, the name, the whole idea of _everything_ that’s tightening its grip. And he’s so lost in all of that mess that he doesn’t hear Adam sneaking up on him until he says, “Who’s Robert?” 

Aaron’s body jerks from the shock before his brain kicks back in and he manages to shove his phone safely into the back pocket of his jeans. 

“He’s no one,” Aaron says before pulling another drag from his cigarette. 

He can only see Adam in his periphery, but that’s more than enough vision for him to catch the smile spreading across Adam’s stupid face. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a new bloke,” he says cheekily as he elbows Aaron in the gut. 

Aaron stalls out at that, his mind racing to the way Robert looks at him sometimes. Hell, the way he looks at him _all the time_ , like if Aaron’s not careful he’s gonna end up as Robert’s next one night stand. Which is the exact opposite of what Aaron needs in the middle of all this. 

“He’s not a new bloke,” he replies, but before Adam can tease him any further he heads him off at the pass with a quick, “He’s a Shadowhunter.” 

Adam balks, his face squeezing up like he’s sucking on a lemon before he asks, “Why are you getting texts from Shadowhunters?” 

“It’s just one, alright?” Aaron defends as he snuffs his cigarette beneath his boot. “And he’s… well... “

“He’s well what?” Adam asks, and now he sounds pissy, which is just flaming perfect. 

So Aaron turns to face him head on, puts on his best _no bullshit_ expression, and says, “He’s helping me with the case.” 

Adam makes a _pfft_ sound, which is oh so mature, before saying, “You’re joking, right? Why’s he helping you?” 

_Because he wants to show his arsehole dad that he’s good enough,_ Aaron thinks. But he’s pretty sure that won’t go over well with Adam, given that the investigation involves his _dead sister._ And so Aaron just says, “He’s got his reasons,” and hopes Adam will leave it at that. 

He doesn’t. His voice just gets louder, threatening to draw the attention of everyone still inside the flat as he seethes, “Aaron, for all you know this Shadowhunter could _be_ the killer.”

Now it’s Aaron’s turn to _pfft._

“Yeah right, Ads. If a Shadowhunter wanted to kill a bunch of Downworlders, they’d find a legal loophole and slaughter us in public and we both know it.”

Adam crosses his arms over his chest and says smugly, “And these are the people you’re working with?” 

“Person, Ads. The _person_ I’m working with. And he’s… alright. For a Shadowhunter. And he can get me the kind of intelligence I can’t get on me own. So just… just leave it, alright?” 

“What does Cain think?” Adam asks because he can’t seem to help himself. He’s like a dog with a flipping bone. 

“Cain doesn’t know and you’re not gonna tell him,” Aaron replies, putting a little steel into his voice. But Adam just looks all taken aback like he can’t believe they’re supposed to keep this secret from _Cain._

Adam hated Cain once. Aaron sorta misses that Adam now that he’s stuck with the one who practically hero worships him. 

“You have to tell Cain.”

Aaron crosses his arms over his chest as well. “I don’t gotta do nothing. And neither do you. This is my business, Ads, and mine alone. Cain trusted me with this investigation, which means I get to lead it as I see fit, got it?” 

Adam looks into the flat at where Cain, Moira and Matty are still sitting around the table, talking about god knows what. His eyes bouncing back and forth, from Aaron to the flat, from Aaron to the flat, from Aaron to the flat before he finally settles ‘em on Aaron and says, “Fine. But if things go sideways, I’m not taking the blame, yeah?” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Aaron says with a crooked smile before pulling Adam into a tight hug. His voice quieter now, resting right next to Adam’s ear as it is, as he says, “I really think he’ll be able to help me find justice for Holls… for all of ‘em.” 

“He better,” Adam says as he pulls back only far enough to head butt Aaron. 

And like the brothers they basically are, the matter is dropped. But it never strays far from Aaron’s mind these days, not for long anyway. Which is why his mobile is burning a hole in his back pocket as he takes out another cigarette and leans against the bar to silently survey the city with Adam. 

Robert has a lead. Or at least Robert _thinks_ he has a lead. And as soon as Aaron gets the bottle, he’s gonna follow up on it. 

~*~

Robert sent the text over three hours ago. Three hours and twenty-eight minutes to be precise, and still there’s been no answer. 

He’s probably busy. Aaron is something like a prince in the Downworld, after all, so it stands to reason that he can’t respond to every text in sixty seconds or less. 

Robert’s never dated a prince before. The closest he came was that one month where he was seeing the faerie queen’s secretary. And did he say he’s never dated a prince? He meant slept with. Robert has never _slept with_ a prince before. 

Not that he’s sleeping with Aaron either. Though Aaron is pretty famously gay, which means it’s not outside the realm of possibility. And he does seem to quite like pinning Robert to walls. That’s gotta be a bonus. 

But it’s been over three hours (three and a half now to be specific), and Aaron hasn’t returned his text. And it’s a pretty important text, too. Which might mean that something is wrong. 

The problem is, he’s disproportionately attracted to Aaron. And he’s just as attracted to Aaron’s brains, to his abilities, as he is to his lips and arse, his broad shoulders and blue eyes. Which is weird if you know him. But which is also why he’s so anxious for Aaron to get back to him. 

He’s finally got a lead, one that might impress Aaron, make him look at Robert the way Robert looks at him any time he does something with his magic. Like his eyes are about to fall out of his flaming skull. Embarrassing. There’s no other word for it. 

But he’s got a lead, and he had to do a lot of work to get it. And okay, most of that work was on his back, but he still put in an effort and he can’t wait to see how Aaron reacts to it. Sue him. 

He looks at his phone again. Three hours and thirty-three minutes. Maybe that’s a sign, half the mark of the devil because Aaron is half demon himself. Fuck, he’s reaching. He’s just reaching while simultaneously kicking himself for leaving such a vague message in the first place. 

_Got a lead. Call me._

Really, Robert? That’s it? He should’ve been more specific. He _should be_ more specific. Which is why he’s got a new text open to Aaron, ready to spill all his juicy surprises, when his phone finally rings. 

The phone fumbles in Robert’s hands, practically slips to the floor and shatters before he’s able to hit the green button and put the damn thing to his ear. 

“‘Sup?” he says, going for casual and shooting far past the mark and landing in a field of idiocy. 

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Aaron says all rough and grumbly, just the way Robert likes him. “You’re the one who texted me.” 

“Right, yeah, course,” Robert rambles because that’s what Aaron does to him apparently. Turns him into a daft moron. “I got a line on a nest of Achaieral demons. I thought we could… I don’t know… check them out? See if our guy is a part of this bunch?” 

The line is dead for a few long seconds, the silence so overwhelming that Robert has to actually check to make sure they haven’t been disconnected before Aaron says, “Meet me at the chip place down the street from the Institute. I’ll see you there in ten.” 

The line does disconnect then, all rude and perfunctory, just like Aaron. But Robert’s slipping into his jacket a second later anyhow, heading out his bedroom door a few seconds after that, because he can’t wait to share his intel with Aaron. 

They don’t share a plate of chips while planning their next move like Robert had hoped. They don’t even go into the shop, in fact. They just stand outside while Robert fills Aaron in on what information he could gather from his friend with the blonde hair and curvy hips. 

“Why hasn’t the Clave taken the nest down?” Aaron asks once he’s politely - surprisingly - listened to everything Robert has to say. 

He’s leaning against the glass behind him, his legs crossed out in front of him and his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets - a deep purple one this time, the colour of which almost sent Robert into paroxysms of glee. He’s the picture of calm and cool if you just ignore his eyes, the intent way he looks out into the middle distance like it’s about ready to leap up and attack him at any minute. 

Robert had anticipated this question, which means he’s had time to think of the most diplomatic response possible and still, all he’s come up with is, “They feel as if watching it and studying it will bring more results than immediately destroying it.” 

Aaron snorts out a laugh at that, but he’s nice enough not to call Robert on his bullshit. His voice still low and a fake kind of calm when he asks, “So what’s the plan then?” 

“We wait for sundown tomorrow, watch the nest, and wait for one to break off. Then we follow it and stop it.” 

Robert almost adds a shrug to the end of his explanation, but for some reason he reckons Aaron might not appreciate it. 

“And what if none break off?” he asks instead, his eyes still just focused on the alleyway across the street. 

Robert does actually shrug at that. “Then we come back the next day. You do know how a stakeout works, don’t you?” 

Aaron looks at him finally, drags his eyes down and up Robert’s body like he’s measuring him up or summat before landing on Robert’s face. His voice a scary kind of empty when he says, “Text me the address. I’ll meet you there tomorrow at half six.” 

And then he’s gone, off into the night like he’s being swallowed up in the darkness. And Robert is left alone outside a greasy smelling chip shop with zero appetite. 

This ought to be fun. 

~*~

It’s an old abandoned warehouse because it’s _always_ an old abandoned warehouse. And Robert is wondering how much safer this city would be if they just tore down all these old abandoned buildings when Aaron practically appears out of a cloud of vapour next to him. 

He doesn’t. That’s not true. Aaron doesn’t even use a portal, probably not wanting to startle their suspects. But Robert had been so wrapped up in his plans for civic safety that he didn’t even notice Aaron approaching until he was right beside him. 

“This the place?” Aaron asks with a tip of his head, hands still stuffed in his pockets. And Robert has this sudden, strange urge to buy Aaron a pair of gloves as a gift before he shakes off his stupidity and nods. 

“This is the place. Shall we?” he asks, putting his arm out to link with Aaron’s as a joke. One that Aaron just stares at like Robert has completely lost the plot. 

The sun is setting behind Aaron’s head right now, casting rays of light over the sharp edges of his face, the tight lines of his body. It’s making him look like he’s flaming _glowing,_ so anything stupid Robert does in the next sixty seconds is going to be blamed on that. 

“You’re so weird,” Aaron says, but his tone isn’t cutting. It’s not playful either, but it’s something close, something matching the slight smile tickling at his lips. And so Robert will take it with a smile of his own. 

They make their way quietly into the warehouse, climbing up the fire escape and heading from the roof down to get the best angle on the place. But as they make their way through the maze of hallways down to the main floor, something sick starts to settle in the pit of Robert’s stomach. 

This doesn’t feel right. Something about this whole thing just _doesn’t feel right._ And based on the way Aaron’s footsteps are slowing, he’s feeling it too. They keep walking, though, maybe because they’re both as stubborn as each other. But either way, their feet bring them to their desired destination in the end. 

At first, the room just looks black. Dark. Like every other abandoned building in the city. But then he sees the flap of a pair of wings, and another, and another, and before he or Aaron can do anything, the room comes alive. 

There are easily a hundred of them, maybe more. A fact that Aaron seems to recognize as well as they both begin walking slowly backwards, away from the insurmountable fucking _horde_ of demons. 

He can’t believe that the Clave could let something like this just sit in the middle of the city, unchecked. Can’t understand why they haven’t sent a battalion of Shadowhunters in to take care of them. But none of that matters right now. 

Nothing matters as much as getting the hell out of here unnoticed. 

Which of course means they _don’t._ There’s an ungodly shriek from in front of them, the nest fully waking up, and at that Aaron and Robert are flat out booking it, turning around and bolting for any exit they can find only their luck is total rubbish because they don’t get down a full hallway before a half dozen demons pop up to block their way. 

Aaron looks at Robert, catches his eye before shrugging his shoulders and lobbing a fireball right at the chest of the demon in the center. 

Robert charges after that, blades at the ready and heart pounding in his ribcage. But for every demon he takes down, every demon Aaron burns to a crisp, another two, three, four take its place. 

They’re pushed back to the main room. Of course they’re pushed back. Demons are stupid but they’re not _stupid._ Which is how Aaron and Robert end up in the middle of a cement tomb, back to back, surrounded by shrieking demons that they desperately try and fight off. 

If a silver lining can be found, it’s that their fighting is perfectly in sync. Robert doesn’t have to tell Aaron to duck before he turns and chops the head off of a demon that had been set to take Aaron down. And Aaron doesn’t have to ask Robert to step aside, out of the way of another fireball aimed at a demon’s chest. 

It’s endless minutes of that, the only protection they have being each other, their backs _literally_ pressed together to make sure that nothing can get between them, can separate them. And Robert has a strange thought that if this is how he’s going to die… well, there are worse ways, he supposes. 

That’s around the time when one of them gets to him, tackles him to the ground and slashes at his stomach. But the pain barely registers around the fear, around the _certainty_ that this is it, this is how he dies. Only Aaron, thankfully, has other ideas. 

The demon that had cut him open disappears in a rush of fire, leaving the air around Robert cold and tacky with the scent of his own blood. But Aaron isn’t stopping there. 

He grabs Robert by his jacket, drags him to a crouching position tucked into the back of Aaron’s legs. His voice loud, commanding, but also fucking _terrified_ as he orders, “Close your eyes and cover your ears!” 

He doesn’t wait to see if Robert complies before he’s spreading a field of light around them. And then the light is pushing out, is growing, is _roaring_ and Robert has the distinct feeling like he’s somehow caught in the middle of the flipping sun. 

The demons are still shrieking, but it’s a different one now. It’s the sound of death, coming for them like a bullet. And Aaron had told him to close his eyes, to cover his ears, but Robert can’t get himself to look away. 

To turn away from where Aaron’s standing, pushing out light and heat, creating a bloody star around them like it’s just that easy to pull the heavens down to earth. And Robert is so lost in his awe, in his breathtaking _awe,_ that he doesn’t notice that Aaron is struggling under the weight until he drops to one knee. 

“I can’t,” Aaron says breathlessly, _painfully,_ “I can’t keep.... I can’t keep…”

Robert grabs his hand, feels the way it makes his body strain around his wound, still leaking blood probably too quickly. But that doesn’t matter now. There are still fifty or so demons around them, there’s still the stench of death in the air. And Aaron is their only hope of survival. 

So Robert grabs his hand, shouts, “Take what you need!” and tries to erase all semblance of pain from his expression when Aaron casts a glance his way. 

“Take it!” Robert shouts again, and this time Aaron nods, as simple as that. 

He’s never shared his energy with a warlock before. He always thought it would feel sexual in a way, _sensual,_ like some sort of bond. But right now, right here, in this moment, it’s painful as hell. 

It’s like Aaron is dragging what’s left of his life from his body, pulling each vein out and exposing it to air. And Robert is almost positive now that he’s not making it out of this warehouse, but if his life can save Aaron’s, then maybe that’ll be enough. 

There’s a shot of pain in his bleeding stomach when Aaron finally equalizes, a loud roar in the air as the star surrounding them presses out in a rush, a flood, and buries everything in its wake. And it happens so quickly that it takes Robert’s breath away, punched clear from his lungs. 

He collapses onto the ground as soon as everything settles, the only sound he can hear being the pounding of his heart, still beating, still _alive_ in his ears. And Aaron is on the ground next to him in a flash. 

“You’re hurt,” Aaron says, his voice hoarse and shaky like he’s afraid. Like the sight of whatever Robert’s got going on down below is terrifying to him. 

“Nothing my… my healing rune can’t fix,” he tries to joke. But he doesn’t even have the energy for that, for healing himself the way he has countless times before. 

_Just die, why don’t ya,_ a voice cuts through his head. One that sounds remarkably like his father’s. And something about that makes a sense of _fight_ surge through his body. 

“It’ll take weeks for something that deep to heal with your rune,” Aaron says as he holds Robert’s shoulder to the ground, keeps him in place. “My magic will be quicker.” 

When Aaron goes to heal him, though, Robert slaps his hand away. 

“No,” he says. “You’re weak.” And he wants to say _you just created a goddamned miniature sun to save our arses_ , but he’s too weak for it. 

He’s too weak for a lot of things. 

“So were you,” Aaron says as he begins to push Robert’s jacket out of the way, unbuttoning his shirt and opening up the wound to the cold air. 

It feels good for a second. Then it just _hurts._

“You were weak, too, but that didn’t stop you from playing the hero.” 

Robert laughs, snorts really at the idea that he could have in any way been the hero in this situation. But he’s losing his voice, losing _everything,_ and so he lets Aaron place his hand over his wound and holds his breath in anticipation. 

The second Aaron starts to pull over the wound, Robert’s body convulses. 

“Sit still,” Aaron snaps, but Robert is so delirious that he actually laughs at that. 

“Tickles,” he says drunkenly, the laughter still present in his voice. 

“What are you, eight?” Aaron asks before placing his free hand on Robert’s bare hip and pressing him hard to the ground. And normally Robert would make a joke about that, an innuendo of sorts, but all he can think of right now is how warm Aaron’s fingers feel against his skin. 

“You’re lucky it didn’t get you any deeper,” Aaron says, worry tinting the edges of his voice. “Even with my magic, I don’t think I’d be able to shove your guts back into your body.”

“Ch-charming,” Robert manages to spit out as he feels strong fingers curling around the pain in his stomach and pulling it out of his body, freeing him up and giving him life as Aaron continues working on him. 

He feels amazing when Aaron finishes, like he’s been given a second life. A quick look tells him that the cut isn’t even there anymore, no scar or anything. And Robert is about to shower Aaron with gratitude when the man himself slumps forward into Robert’s arms. 

“Aaron?” he asks, his own voice trembling now. “Aaron, are you alright?” 

But Aaron’s not answering him, Aaron’s not _moving,_ and Robert knew it. He knew he was too weak to heal him and now look at what he’s gone and done. 

He lays Aaron gently on the ground, lets his trembling fingers trail over Aaron’s neck, looking for a pulse he can’t seem to find. And Robert knows CPR - compressions, breaths - and so he tips Aaron’s head back and gets to work. 

“Don’t you fucking die on me,” he hisses in between breaths. “You’re not dying saving my life.” But just when Robert is beginning to fear that’s exactly what’s going to happen, Aaron’s whole body jerks and he takes a deep, ragged, moan of a breath into his body. 

“You’re alive,” Robert practically sobs, his hands immediately reaching out to hold Aaron’s face, rub his thumbs under Aaron’s blue, blue eyes, the ones that are looking back at Robert now in confusion. 

“What… what happened?” Aaron asks, and Robert actually laughs at that. Because Aaron is alive. _He didn’t kill Aaron._ And nothing else matters. 

“You overdid it, mate,” Robert tries to explain through the tears actually streaking down his own cheeks. “Used up too much of yourself healing me. Had to go old school on you, CPR n’all. Saved your life, but I’m not looking for you to call me a hero or owt.” 

Aaron’s eyes narrow into slits, like there’s some sort of snarly comment just waiting to escape. And Robert could just kiss him right now if he didn’t think Aaron might still punch him for trying. 

He helps Aaron sit up instead, one hand on his shoulder, leveraging him up, and the other still cupping his cheek because Robert can’t seem to get himself to let him go. 

_Stop touching his face,_ he tells himself. _Stop touching his face. You’re making this weird._ **_Stop touching his face._ **

But in the end it’s Aaron that breaks the contact, getting to his feet far too quickly for Robert’s concern, given what they both just went through. 

Aaron heads for the door at that, the front one, no stairs to climb or walls to scale. And Robert’s voice is full of confusion and something uncomfortably like longing when he asks, “Where are you going?” 

“I don’t know about you,” Aaron calls over his shoulder, “but I need a drink.” He turns around then, begins walking backwards and smiles in a way that is utterly devastating to Robert before asking, “You coming?” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's Shadowhunter tip: Shadowhunters are normally invisible to humans. They have to use a rune to make themselves visible if they so choose.

There are many reasons why Aaron needed to get the hell out of that warehouse as fast as his legs could carry him. The threat of Shadowhunters descending on him and Robert for destroying their precious source of intel, for one. Potentially more demons coming to avenge their friends, for another. 

Robert’s hand lightly stroking his cheek over and over, then over again. 

Regardless of the way his body was just screaming at him to sit still and breathe, Aaron needed to  _ move.  _ And if he lied to himself well enough, he’d believe that it didn’t matter to him whether or not Robert followed him.

They walk in silence through the city, Robert’s jacket zipped up to cover his blood-stained shirt and Aaron’s hoodie doing nothing to combat the frozen air slicing through him. It’s actually nice, though, the quiet. Usually when Aaron’s alone with someone, his brain is occupied by the noise, negating any awkwardness that might develop. But this? 

It’s surprisingly nice. 

Aaron’s not a fan of new things, which means there are only two bars in the city where he can take Robert. And one of them will be full of his Shadowhunter-hating family right about now. 

Easy choice, then. 

Robert raises one annoyingly perfect eyebrow when they stop in front of Bar West, but he doesn’t say a single word, just obediently heads up the steps in front of Aaron and disappears into the harsh red lights that fill the space. 

He’s never known a Shadowhunter to willingly remain visible around humans. They’re charged with protecting them, but they generally treat humans like bratty, wayward children in need of a scolding more than anything. The way heads turn when Robert walks in, though, parting the crowd as if he’s bloody Moses himself, assures Aaron that he’s got no problem being seen tonight. 

Well, at least Aaron won’t have to get funny looks for talking to “himself.”

They manage to find a table a fair distance from the dance floor, tucked in the corner to give them at least a semblance of privacy. And it’s like Aaron’s strings are just flaming cut the second he settles himself on the stool. 

“I’ll get ‘em in, yeah?” Robert offers from where he’s still practically bouncing on his feet next to the table. “Appletini?” 

“Piss off,” Aaron replies, but there’s no bite to his voice. Even if he wanted to kick off, he’d be too bloody knackered to even bother. 

Robert laughs like somehow Aaron’s hostility is amusing to him, which isn’t exactly the reaction Aaron usually gets. The laugh is light, though, free and easy with no indication that its source almost died a half hour ago in a dank, dark warehouse on the east side of London. And Aaron is gonna take all of that as a win.

That was too close for him to even think about. They really probably should be dead right now but here they are, about to have a drink like their lives are somehow normal. 

It’s mad, that is. But it’s nothing Aaron hasn’t experienced dozens of times before, Robert too, he’s sure. And so when Robert says, “Lager?” Aaron just looks up at him and nods because things can be simple if he lets them. Even if it’s just for one night. 

“So, that was a night, huh?” Robert asks when he slides onto his stool a good fifteen minutes later, two pints in his hands, the glasses sweating already from the heat inside the bar. 

Aaron takes a long, satisfying swig and nods again, words apparently too much for him to get a handle on at the moment. 

Robert just looks at him for a few long seconds, his eyes squinted down like whatever he’s thinking about is deeper than anything Aaron wants to deal with here. Which is why Aaron is bracing himself, muscles tight, hackles up, long before Robert asks, “What exactly did you do to me?” 

That… wasn’t what he was expecting. 

“You what?” he asks in an attempt to buy himself some time to recalibrate his mind, get it wrapped around the conversation they’re apparently having. 

Robert nods, bites his lip, then tips his head and says, “Back there, what you did to me. What… what was it, exactly? Because I’ve been healed before but that…”

“Did I not do it right or summat?” Aaron asks, his eyebrows pinched in the middle because he was pretty out of it, sure, but he’s also pretty sure he could do a healing spell in his sleep if he needed to. 

“Fuck no!” Robert exclaims almost loud enough to be heard by the people around them over the music currently thudding through Aaron’s veins. 

“I feel fucking amazing, Aaron. Like I… like I’m ten years younger. Like I could run five consecutive marathons  _ right now  _ without even breaking a sweat.”

“Oh,” Aaron replies. That’s all he’s got.  _ Oh.  _ One stupid word as an answer because all he had to do was heal Robert’s wound and apparently he went and healed a whole lot more. 

Robert leans over the table, leather-covered forearms flat against the sticky wood and his tongue poking out to lick his smiling lips before he says, all deep and… and  _ something,  _ “That’s really all you’ve got for me? Oh?” 

Aaron struggles to maintain eye contact, wonders what’ll happen to him in his weakened state if he looks at Robert’s lips, trails his eyes over the freckles dusting Robert’s nose. His voice a feigned sort of level as he says, “Yes, all I have for you is  _ oh.  _ As in ‘oh, I think I might have gone a bit too far with the whole healing thing.’ Soz.” 

Robert makes this… fuck, Aaron’s just gonna call it an  _ adorable  _ little squawking sound, half laugh, half surprise before he reaches out, wraps one of his stupid, giant hands around the wrist still helping Aaron clutch onto his pint for dear life. His eyes practically flaming dancing as he purrs, “I think I’m going to need a bit more than that, Aaron.” 

It’s the way he says his name, deep and rough like it  _ means something,  _ that gets Aaron to elaborate. 

To sigh deeply, tip his head back for a moment, look Robert in the eyes again and say, “A warlock’s healing works sorta like… I dunno, like a time machine?” 

Robert squints at him, but he doesn’t let his wrist go. And Aaron thinks it’s probably significant that he’s not shaking Robert off right now. 

Robert tips his head. “Go on.” 

“It’s like putting something back to factory settings,” he says even though it’s actually also nothing like that at the same exact time. It’s the best he can do with someone that can’t actually feel it from his side, though, so he adds, “Dialing the wound back to before it even existed. And I guess… I guess maybe I pulled some other things back as well.” 

It’s a statement, or maybe it’s a question, Aaron’s too shattered to know. But Robert seems to be mulling it over so Aaron can relax for a minute, berate himself for how stupid he was to do what he did. 

If Cain knew that he did something like that to a  _ Shadowhunter,  _ he’d beat him to a bloody pulp, then heal him so he could beat him all over again. 

He can just hear it, Cain’s pissy voice, all loud and overbearing, shouting at him about how, “They’ll have us working as their bloody medics next, Aaron! What in the hell were you thinking?” 

_ I wasn’t,  _ he’d say. Not to Cain - that’d be suicide - but to himself. All he knows is that Robert was bleeding, maybe even bleeding  _ out,  _ and Aaron couldn’t let that happen. 

_ You care too much, love,  _ his mum’s voice comes to him now. Gray hair and a deathbed that Aaron couldn’t bear, the first in an ever-growing line. But even though most people would take her words as a compliment, Aaron knew better. 

Aaron knew they were a  _ warning.  _

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, lowly and deadly serious as he shakes Robert’s hand off his wrist but only so he can grab Robert’s, pin him in place and stare so deep into his eyes he’s sure he can read everything that’s written there. 

Sure Robert can read everything in Aaron’s eyes as well. 

But that’s what they need here.  _ Trust.  _ And to his credit, Robert doesn’t even need more than five seconds to think before he bites his lip again and nods his head. 

“I won’t tell anyone, Aaron,” he says in a way that’s both solemn and warm,  _ reassuring.  _ Before he adds a heartfelt, “I promise,” to the end that makes it so that Aaron can breathe again. 

“Can I ask you a question, though?” Robert asks after at least a minute of them sitting in silence, staring at one another. 

Aaron nods. 

“It doesn’t… work on dead people?” 

Aaron’s body deflates again, strings bloody cut  _ all over again  _ as he thinks of Holly’s body, her eyes cold, dead, and staring at him like they were begging him to do something only, “No, it doesn’t work on dead people.”

_ I’ve tried,  _ Aaron thinks.  _ So many times.  _

That seems to be the end of the discussion as Aaron finally lets Robert’s wrist go and they return to their pints. And somehow, some way, they manage to slip back into something resembling normalcy. Like two mates, out for a drink, talking like mates about the things mates talk about when they’re being mates. All of which leads Aaron to one startling conclusion. 

“You’re a bloody nerd,” he says as soon as Robert finishes talking about this comic book - no, sorry,  _ graphic novel  _ \- that he loves. 

“Oi, you take that back you,” Robert replies indignantly before he drains his third pint of the night. 

“No, sorry, I’m pretty sure I’ve never said something so valid in my entire life,” Aaron says on a genuine laugh that makes his skin hum. 

Robert leans forward again, something he’s been doing all night like he keeps getting caught up in some gravitational pull towards Aaron or summat. His voice playful in a way that sends shivers up Aaron’s spine when he replies lowly, “I’ll have you know, Aaron, that graphic novels are cool these days.”

Aaron leans in as well this time, all the way so that their faces are practically touching and Aaron can smell the product in Robert’s hair, the beer on his breath when he replies, “And I’ll have you know, Robert, that anyone that needs to say that is clearly overcompensating for something.” 

They freeze, stuck in the moment like amber, and Aaron thinks how easy it would be to just  _ do it.  _ Press his lips to Robert’s. Fall into bed with him. Become just one more notch on Robert Sugden’s bedpost then wake up the next morning with the word  _ mistake  _ ricocheting through his head. 

It would be so  _ easy.  _ But it would also be hard, and Aaron knows it. Because Aaron’s never been good with  _ feelings,  _ and even though he hasn’t known Robert long, he can still tell there’s something there. Something deeper than what he’d get out of a night on the pull. And the last thing Aaron needs right now is  _ deeper,  _ especially with a bloody Shadowhunter that’s slept his way through half of the Downworld already. 

So he pulls back slowly, tracks the way Robert’s head quirks in confusion, something lost in his eyes, young and almost a little sad. And Aaron is about to make an excuse, even though he doesn’t know what he’d be excusing, when someone else approaches their table, shattering the moment like a hammer to a pane of glass. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ed says because  _ of course  _ Ed would show up when Aaron was even remotely considering shagging someone else. “Am I interrupting some kind of date or summat?” 

“Yes,” Robert says at the exact moment Aaron says, “No.” And truly, it would be fantastic if the ground would open up and swallow him whole right about now. 

Ed laughs, seemingly oblivious to the toxic levels of awkwardness swirling around them, before saying cheerfully, “You going to introduce us?” to Aaron’s gaping face. 

_ No,  _ he thinks.  _ No I am not going to introduce you because there’s no possible reason for you two to be acquainted.  _ But instead, because he’s an idiot, he flaps, “Robert, this is my Ed. My  _ ex.  _ Ed. This is Ed, my ex.” 

Ed looks to Robert at that, extends his arm out to shake hands, and something almost angry flashes across Robert’s face.  _ Predatory,  _ Aaron thinks the word is. And it’s strong enough to make Aaron’s entire body feel like it’s been lit on fire. 

“You’re Ed Roberts,” Robert says levelly as he shakes Ed’s hand, his posture straighter than it’s been all night, rigid and defensive. “Head of the London vampire clan.” 

Ed tugs a little on Robert’s arm, pulling them closer together before he says just as levelly, “And you’re Robert Sugden, son of the great Jack Sugden, Head of the London Institute and  _ friend  _ to Downworlders alike.” 

The way Ed says the word  _ friend  _ can’t be construed as anything but threatening, and so Aaron is ready to jump in between them if he has to, protect Robert from Ed’s misplaced ire. Only Robert just smirks back at Ed, cool as the day is long, and says a slick, “But you wouldn’t hold that against me, would you?” 

Ed looks like he’s considering it, like he’s actually contemplating ripping Robert’s throat out right here in the middle of Bar West simply because his last name is Sugden. And Aaron realizes two things very suddenly: 

1) He’s glad he didn’t take Robert to Butlers tonight. 

2) If he doesn’t do something quick, there could be a fight on his hands. One that wouldn’t be good for either party involved. 

So he reaches out for Ed, runs his hand up his bicep before grabbing his shoulder and tugging him around, forcing him to let go of Robert’s hand before looking Ed directly in the eye, lowering his voice to something almost intimate, and saying, “Ed, he’s  _ good.  _ I swear it,” because he does. 

If there’s one thing he’s sure of these days, it’s that Robert, of anyone, can be trusted. 

Ed’s eyes are fierce for a few seconds before they track over the lines of Aaron’s face, fall into the dark circles beneath Aaron’s eyes. And then he’s just reaching out and cupping Aaron’s jaw like he thinks they’re somehow the type of people that still do that with one another. 

Robert makes a noise of displeasure from across the table, but Aaron’s eyes are still on Ed. Are still concerned with making sure that nothing happens here. Which is why he can see the way Ed’s expression finally softens when he says, “You look awful.” 

“Thanks, mate,” he replies, taking Ed’s wrist gently and tugging his hand off his face. “And here I thought my new sleeping schedule would help me look better.” 

“It’s not funny, Aaron,” Ed scolds him, one of the many reasons why Aaron had to walk away from him all those years ago. Because sometimes, Ed forgot he was his boyfriend and not his mother. 

“I know it’s not, but I’m  _ fine.  _ We just had a rough night, is all. Demon hunting and whatnot.” 

Ed slices his eyes back to Robert, gives him a look that would cut him in half if it could. But Robert doesn’t even flinch under it, and Aaron is embarrassed to admit how much of a turn on that is. 

“I’m  _ fine,  _ Ed,” Aaron repeats as he yanks Ed round again. “We’re all good here.” 

Ed seems to get his point, read between the lines or whatever and recognize Aaron’s polite invitation for Ed to leave them the hell alone, because after one more worried beat he says, “Well that’s good to hear. I’ll leave you two alone, shall I? Let you continue your not date?” 

Aaron squirms internally at the word  _ date,  _ at the memory of Robert wanting to call this that. But he doesn’t give Ed the satisfaction of showing any of that on his face or in his voice when he says, “It was good to see you.”

It wasn’t. Not tonight anyway. But the quicker Ed leaves, the quicker Aaron can put an end to this long, mostly miserable, confusing as hell evening. 

Ed shoots one last death glare at Robert, says a pinched, “Nice to meet you.” And the way Robert positively  _ beams  _ back at him makes Aaron want to simultaneously deck and snog him. 

“Nice to meet you too, mate,” he says with a satisfied tip of his chin. And all Aaron wants right now is to go home and lie in his bed. 

Well. That’s not entirely true. But he does want to be in his bed, just… doing something other than lying in it. 

“He’s fun,” Robert says once Ed has gone, something wounded in his tone as he looks back at Aaron, trying to read his face like subtitles. 

Aaron shrugs. “He’s just overprotective. Thinks we’re still together half the time.” 

Robert leans back in his chair at that, crosses his arms high over his chest and asks, “How long’s it been since you broke up?”

“Thirty years, give or take?” Aaron replies before downing the rest of his pint in one go. 

“And he’s still acting like he owns you?” Robert says indignantly, and Aaron really doesn’t feel like getting into this right now, whatever this is. 

So he zips up his hoodie and says, “Look, Robert, I’m completely done in here. Do you mind if we call it a night?” 

It’s like someone’s flipped a switch in Robert, his expression snapping from pissy and annoyed to caring and soft so fast it feels like it’s giving Aaron whiplash as he gets to his feet before Aaron can even move his legs and says a gentle little, “How about I walk you home?” 

“I can just take a portal,” Aaron says, even though the thought of using his magic right now makes him want to vomit and then die in his pool of fresh vomit. 

Robert seems to be able to gather that because his hand is on Aaron’s elbow a second later, guiding him from the chair as he says a gentle but firm, “I don’t think it’s good for you to be using your magic again tonight, do you?” 

It’s a question, not a command. And that’s probably the only reason Aaron doesn’t bristle at it as he looks up into Robert’s eyes and nods, wondering as he does what it would feel like to just sink into Robert’s arms right now, let him take care of him the way he seems to want to. 

It’s a stupid thought, but Aaron is bone tired, so all he’s really got right now are stupid thoughts. 

They walk back to Aaron’s flat in the same comfortable silence as before, their shoulders bumping lightly into one another’s as they sway back and forth even though there’s plenty of sidewalk to go around. And Aaron keeps having this crazy idea to reach down and take Robert’s hand. It would be so easy, so effortless, and something Robert probably wouldn’t mind. But every time he goes to do it, he loses his bottle. 

That’s probably why he feels bereft when they finally reach his building. Because maybe he had a chance at something more here, and maybe he should have taken it. 

Aaron’s not a risk-taker, though, not in that way anyhow. And so he finds himself standing with his back to his building, looking up into Robert’s eyes and marveling at how the moonlight makes him almost shimmer as his own heart throws itself mercilessly against his ribs. 

“I really should thank you, Aaron,” Robert says softly, the kind of voice one might use in a bedroom when speaking to a lover, as he sways gently in and out of Aaron’s personal bubble. 

“What for?” Aaron asks, mirroring both Robert’s tone and movements. 

Robert laughs then reaches out to grab Aaron’s shoulder, slide his fingers up the side of Aaron’s neck before saying, “For saving my life. Remember?” 

“Oh. That,” Aaron says stupidly, like he’s completely forgotten how they got to this point in the first place. Because he has. Robert seems to have that effect on him. Temporary loss of memory. Temporary loss of  _ sanity.  _

“Has anyone ever told you how amazing you are?” Robert asks, rocking even closer to Aaron so that they’re sharing the same breath practically, so far in each other’s spaces that Aaron wouldn’t know how to pull them apart even if he wanted to, which he  _ doesn’t.  _

“Probably just caught me on a good day,” he whispers, and Aaron thinks  _ this is it.  _ This is the moment to kiss him. Only as soon as that thought crosses his mind, all of the reasons why he  _ shouldn’t  _ come flooding through him. 

He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t do feelings. He doesn’t do  _ Shadowhunters.  _ Only there’s a Shadowhunter standing in front of him, and it feels remarkably like there’s a black hole opening up in the center of his chest and Aaron just… he just… 

“Goodnight, Aaron,” Robert says almost sadly, like he could read the hesitation on Aaron’s face before he leans in and presses a kiss to Aaron’s cheek. 

He lingers for a moment, his lips warm against Aaron’s windswept skin. And all of a sudden that’s all Aaron wants in the world. 

Robert’s lips on him, making him feel warm again. 

“Seriously,” Robert says when he finally stops kissing Aaron, skating his hand up so that he’s cupping Aaron’s cheek now, holding him in place so he can whisper into his ear, “Thank you.” 

Aaron’s voice shakes when he replies, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be able to return the favour one day, the way we’re going.” 

And with that, Robert finally pulls away from him. 

“Goodnight,” he says again, his expression unreadable under the street lamps. 

And all Aaron can say in response is a mirrored, “Goodnight.” 

The rest? Well, that can wait until tomorrow. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warlocks are half demon, half human, meaning they can only be “made” if a full demon mates with a human (unlike werewolves who can pass their werewolf blood down the line). Additionally, only greater demons can make warlocks, so the lesser demons we’ve seen so far couldn’t do it. It takes a prince of hell or a demon of that power. In this fic, the demon that fathered Aaron (Asmodeus) is the same demon that fathered Cain (this demon really likes Dingle women). So on their human sides, they’re uncle/nephew, but on their demon sides, they’re brothers. Also, Edom is a hell dimension. 

“I’m going to see dad,” Aaron states bluntly as he stands in the middle of Cain’s entryway, ready to fight against whatever Cain’s got on offer tonight. 

Cain looks at him with a bored expression on his face and states, “Not a chance,” like Aaron is just gonna follow his flaming edict or summat. Bow down and kiss the bloody ring. 

“Five Downworlders have died since Holly,” Aaron practically begs, taking no satisfaction in the way Cain flinches at Holly’s name. 

“I took out a whole nest of Achaieral demons and it changed  _ nothing.  _ I can’t just sit on my hands anymore, Cain. I can’t keep going around in circles that get me  _ nowhere.  _ Our father is the only one I can think of that might be able to help finish this, and I’m gonna see him whether you like it or not.” 

He sucks in a deep breath once he finishes his speech, watching the way Cain studies him how he’s always done, ever since that day he came to drag Aaron out of that mess with his stepfather, came to bring him home. 

Cain knows him better than anyone - than anyone still living, anyway - which is why Aaron’s not surprised to see understanding and resignation swimming across his face when he says, “Then I’m coming, too.” 

“Not a chance,” Aaron echoes. “He’ll only get his back up if you’re there, Cain. He can’t stand the sight of you. Besides, I don’t need backup. I’ve got me own.” 

Cain scoffs at him. “What, the Shadowhunter?” 

Aaron’s face must look a picture right now to pull the type of smile Cain’s wearing out of him. But despite his expression, Cain’s voice is still deadly serious when he says, “Yeah, Adam told me about your new partner. What were you thinking, Aaron? Getting involved with the likes of him?” 

“We’re not involved,” Aaron shoots back far too defensively for his own good, judging by the sneer on Cain’s face when he replies, “It was a figure of speech, sunshine. Though now, I think I’m starting to understand things a bit better. Getting a little on the side, are you? Would explain why, after everything I’ve taught you, you’d put your trust in one of those streakers.” 

“I don’t have to justify my decisions to you,” Aaron replies indignantly, straightening his posture and crossing his arms over his chest in the hopes that it’ll make Cain see how serious he’s being. 

Cain takes two measured steps closer to Aaron, though, moving near enough that he can reach out and cup his hand under the side of Aaron’s head before asking, “Since when?” 

“Oh, give over!” Aaron exclaims before shoving Cain away from him. “You’re not the boss of me, Cain. You never have been.” 

Cain laughs at him, but it’s not an insulting one. It’s just plain amused as he replies, “I’m the High Warlock of London, Aaron. I’m the boss of  _ everyone.  _ And last I checked, everyone includes you.” 

“Yeah… well… that doesn’t change the fact that I’m doing this. And it doesn’t change the fact that I’m doing it without  _ you.  _ I didn’t come here to ask permission. I came as a courtesy.”

“No, you came because you know there’s a chance he’ll refuse to let you come back. You  _ came  _ because you wanted someone - meaning me - to be on call to come and rescue your daft arse if things go tits up, am I wrong?” 

Aaron gulps, but he doesn’t respond. Cain knows he’s right. There’s no point in admitting it. 

Aaron is terrified, is the thing. He’s only met his real father once before, and it had chilled him straight to the bone to do it. 

_ You’re all mine,  _ he’d said before Aaron left, but in a way that sounded like a threat more than anything. A way that made Aaron shake because he believed him. Believed that someday, his father would drag him down to hell with him and Aaron would lose everything and everyone that he ever loved in the process. 

“I came because you’re my uncle,” Aaron says instead of admitting to what Cain already knows. “I came because we’re family.”

“And family always looks out for each other,” Cain says, his voice the closest thing to soft Aaron’s bound to ever get. And then he’s nodding and adding, “I’ll be there if you need me. You know I will.” 

Aaron nods, says a quiet, “Thanks,” and then turns to leave. Before he can get out the door, though, Cain’s voice stops him. 

“We’re gonna talk about that Shadowhunter. You know that, right?” 

Aaron’s head drops, his voice doing the same as he grumbles, “I know,” because he does. 

Cain’s not gonna let this one lie. 

But neither is Aaron. 

He takes a portal home because he needs time to get ready for tonight, but before he does anything other than appear inside his flat, he takes his phone out of his pocket and dials “R” before he loses his bottle. 

“Aaron, hiya,” Robert says after only one ring. “I’ve been waiting for you to call. And I know I could’ve called myself, but I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy and-”

“Robert,” Aaron interrupts, trying not to snap too hard even though he really needs Robert to just shut up and listen for once. 

Robert must realise that because he stops speaking immediately, leaving behind a gaping silence that Aaron needs to fill.

“I need backup tonight,” Aaron says as simply and as confidently as he can manage despite his sheer terror at what he’s about to do. 

What he’s about to drag Robert into. 

“Whatever you need, Aaron,” is Robert’s reply, and it’s so sincere it makes Aaron’s whole body ache. 

“You know the Woolpack?” he asks. 

“You mean that Downworlder club on the east end? The one that’s all goth/punk? Yeah, I know it.” 

Aaron takes a deep breath, then commits.

“I need you to meet me there at eleven.”

He lets the silence expand again, for some reason unwilling to hang up just yet. Which is why he shouldn’t be surprised when Robert fills the gaps this time. 

“I didn’t think they let Shadowhunters in,” he says all bloody sheepishly. And Aaron is having that “punch him / kiss him” push/pull again. 

It’s why there’s actually a laugh in his voice when he says, “Leave that to me,” why his mind wanders to Robert clad in leather when he adds, “Just dress appropriately,” and why he feels almost empty when he hangs up on him. 

He knows Robert will have questions, though. Ones like “Why are we going there?” Ones that Aaron won’t want to answer. 

So he hangs up like a royal prat and turns to his closet before digging around for his best punk clothes. Because there’s a portal to Edom in the back of the Woolpack, but they’ll never get there if they can’t get through the club first. 

~*~

“Nicola, I need a favour,” Robert asks breathlessly as he comes skidding into their office. 

“What are you doing here?” she snaps back at him like he just interrupted something embarrassing that he has zero interest in discovering the origin of. “You’re not supposed to sub me out until ten.” 

“Yeah, hence my use of the word the favour,” he repeats, plopping down in his chair and bringing it around so he can lean forward and look her right in the eye. 

“I need you to take my shift tonight.” 

“Absolutely not,” she shoots back instantly, her face pursing up like an old prune. “I’m already coming off the back of a double, Robert. And I promised Jimmy that we’d have some alone time tonight.” 

Robert tries to force himself not to gag at the image of Nicola and Jimmy flaming King alone in a room,  _ doing things,  _ but he’s only moderately successful in his venture.  __

“It’s important, Nicola. I have a lead on our case.” 

“Oh,  _ our  _ case, yeah? You mean the one you’ve been working in direct contradiction to Clave orders? The one I’ve been warning you about for weeks? The one that could very likely get you  _ and me  _ fired? Is that the case, is it?” 

He resists the way his eyes want to just roll back into his skull, keeps his cool as best he can as he changes tactics and says, “I’ll give you anything you want.” 

Finally, her eyes light up. 

~*~

In the end, he had to offer to take Nicola’s holiday shifts for the next year, but if all goes well for him, he won’t even  _ be  _ in this job by this time next month, let alone next year. So all in all it’s a wash as he ransacks his wardrobe in search of clothes appropriate to wear to an underground goth/punk Downworlder club. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have the exact right outfit readily available when he opens his wardrobe doors. But he finds something serviceable thanks to an old vamp pseudo-girlfriend who liked to see him in top to bottom leather. 

Robert’s not really into bondage, but he’s also not against trying new things. 

The leather trousers are a bit difficult to get on after all these years, but once he’s safely tucked inside he pulls out his crispest plain white t-shirt, tops it off with his favourite leather jacket and a pair of worn out combat boots, and heads out of his room…

… where he immediately runs into Victoria, Andy and Joe.

His timing, just like his hair, is an utter mess. But at least the mess on his head was carefully crafted. 

They’re clearly on their way to another hunt, and Robert looks like he’s going out on a particularly niche night on the pull. Which means his stomach plummets the second he claps eyes on the three of them. 

“Robert!” Vic exclaims like his presence outside his own bedroom is somehow a mystery to her. 

“Vic!” he exclaims right back, because when in doubt, front it out. “Where are you lot off to? A night at the pictures?” 

They’re almost comically loaded down with weapons, they’re dressed in all black, and Joe, the moron, even has black makeup smeared under his eyes. It’s a joke, really, that Robert is somehow not good enough to play with the big kids any longer. Especially when the big kids - minus his sister, who he loves,  _ duh  _ \- are such a giant cliche. 

“We’re going out on a demon hunt,” Andy boasts, puffing his chest in a way Robert always thought meant he was trying to look taller. 

Robert just stands up straighter in response. Piss on him. 

“Where are _ you _ going?” Joe chimes in, looking Robert from head to foot like he always does because either he’s intimidated as hell by Robert or he’s got a big fat gay crush on him. It’s a tossup, really. 

“Goin’ out on the pull?” 

Joe’s question is meant to rile him, he can tell by the tone of his voice. But even though Robert has been expressly ordered to keep his taste for men, both Downworld and not, to himself, his sexual nature in general has never been something he’s hidden away. 

So he hooks his thumbs into the belt loops on his rather impressively tight leather trousers, smiles like his shit don’t stink, and says a jolly old, “Yeah, Joe, I am. See there’s this thing called sex. Maybe you’ve heard of it although, judging by the rumours around the Institute, I reckon you haven’t. It’s quite a shame, really. I’d be willing to bet you’d be a far less miserable git if you ever managed to convince someone to touch you in your special place.” 

Joe’s seething by the end of his little diatribe, which means Robert is bracing to dodge a punch. But before he can try to take out his impotent rage on Robert’s face, Vic quite literally steps between them. 

Her eyes are huge right now, all  _ play nice, Robert,  _ and Robert allows his tensed muscles to relax every so slightly. 

“Hey, did you hear about the nest of Achaieral demons that got taken out a while back?” she asks him, clearly as a ploy to get him off the track that leads directly to Joe Tate’s  _ actual  _ black eye. 

Robert just huffs and keeps his mouth shut, knowing full well that he can’t exactly say,  _ oh yeah, that was me and my hopeful warlock boyfriend. We almost died. It was aces! _

“Oh what, the great Robert Sugden doesn’t think a nest full of Achaieral demons is big enough news?” Andy taunts.

“Jesus, Andy, when are you going to get over the fact that I fucked your girlfriend?” he asks back, willing as he is to do anything to pull them off this stupid topic of conversation. 

Andy goes for him, it’s not exactly hard to predict. What  _ is  _ hard to predict is his little sister ramming her elbow into their brother’s stomach to get him to stop his most recent run at Robert. 

“Would you two just stop it already? You’re worse than a bunch of children!” she shouts. And he’d tell her that her “fed up” face is actually quite cute if he weren’t afraid she’d elbow him as well. 

“We should be going,” Joe sneers over the sounds of Andy coughing the air back into his lungs. 

Robert just smiles at him, bold as brass, and says, “Yeah, you should be.” 

Vic gives him a disappointed look that reminds him so much of their mum it hurts right before she turns her back on him and helps Andy to walk away in a perfect tableau of all things Sugden these days. All they’re missing is their dad, presiding over the scene with a look of disdain on his face aimed Robert’s way. 

All of that is inconsequential tonight, though. Family drama and petty grudges can wait. Because Aaron’s got a lead, Robert is his backup, and because he’s wearing bloody leather trousers that, for all intents and purposes, should be pooled on somebody’s floor tonight, preferably Aaron’s. 

They have a lead, which means Robert is one step closer to winning back the life he deserves. 

~*~

_ Dear lord, he’s wearing eyeliner.  _

That’s the first thought in Robert’s head as he sees Aaron approach him in the alley behind the Woolpack. He’s wearing bloody eyeliner, causing the already arresting blue of his eyes to stand out tenfold under the damp street lamps. And Robert’s heart is racing before Aaron is even within arms reach of him. 

His outfit isn’t helping much either - the skin tight black jeans that seem to be holding his arse in greedy hands, the careless, mud-caked boots, the bomber jacket that makes his shoulders look as wide as a rugby player’s. 

Basically, Robert’s aching in his pants after just one look, and thanks to his choice of attire, he doesn’t have much room to maneuver down there if you know what he means. 

Something stutters in Aaron’s step when he finally gives Robert a proper look, a pause just long enough for him to drag his eyes all over Robert’s body in a way that makes Robert feel more bare than if he were standing here starkers. 

He likes what he sees, though, Aaron does. He must do if the way his eyes linger is any indication, the way he licks his lips before pulling the corner of them into his mouth, the way he scratches absently at his chest, just over his heart. 

They’re frozen like that for almost a full minute, just lost in the sight of each other, before the blaring of a car horn around the corner snaps them both out of it. 

“As much as I love a night out on the town with you,” Robert says as cockily as he can manage in the hopes that it’ll cover up the way he’d no doubt been staring at Aaron with hearts in his eyes ten seconds ago. 

“Why are we here?” 

Aaron comes to rest no more than a meter in front of Robert, a glorious picture even better up close. But the hunger Robert had sworn he’d seen flash in Aaron’s eyes is gone in favour of the far less entertaining Just Business model. 

“There’s a portal to Edom in the back of this club,” he says perfunctorily as he stuffs his no doubt frozen hands into the pockets of his jacket. 

Robert rolls that bit of information around in his head before asking, “We’re going to Edom?” 

Aaron dips his head to light a cigarette, a movement that makes Robert’s skin hum before he blows smoke in Robert’s face and says, “We’re not going anywhere.  _ I’m  _ going.” 

Robert laughs at that, his voice bearing the traces of his bloody mirth when he replies, “You’re insane,” because Aaron is. 

“Do you know how flaming dangerous going into Edom is at all, much less alone?” 

Aaron takes another drag on his cigarette before saying on the exhale, “My dad is there.”

He’s silent for a moment, letting Robert absorb the information perhaps, like maybe Robert didn’t know that Aaron’s father is a Prince of Hell. 

He did. He does. And yet still, this plan has stupid written all over it. 

“If anyone has info on our demons, it’s him,” Aaron says before stomping his cigarette beneath his boot. 

But Robert just crosses his arms at him, juts his chin out and says a confident, “I’m not letting you do this.” 

Aaron looks up under his lashes, raises one deadly eyebrow at him before Robert adds, “Not alone anyways.” 

There’s a sneer on Aaron’s lips in the next second, his entire face contorting with it before he removes one hand from his pocket so he can point right at Robert’s face and ask, “Why the bloody hell does everyone think I need a babysitter?” 

Robert bats Aaron’s finger out of his face like an inconvenient fly. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you do stupid, reckless things?” 

The way Aaron scoffs at him has no business being as attractive as it is.

“It was your idea to ‘check out’ that nest in the first place, if I’m remembering correctly.” 

He is remembering correctly, Robert can admit that. But still, “It was your idea to almost kill yourself taking out nearly a hundred Achaieral demons on your own.” 

Aaron takes a few steps closer, presses himself firmly into Robert’s personal space, his eyes gleaming as he looks up into his eyes and snarls, “And what? I shoulda let them kill us? Is that what you’re suggesting? In case you forgot, you nearly died, too.” 

Robert swallows, tries to force down the spike of lust that accompanies Aaron being this close to him before he says, “Alright, so we’re both idiots. That doesn’t make this idea of yours any less insane.” 

Aaron’s eyes track over his face in that way that makes Robert swear he’s looking through to bone, but he evidently finds what he’s looking for in the end because his face softens ever so slightly before he says a quick, “Complaint registered,” and turns to head to the front of the club. 

Robert follows him a few seconds later, like he’d ever do anything else. His steps hurried to catch up to Aaron before the pair of them push to the front of a line that seems to be wrapped around the entire block. 

Aaron must be using some sort of magic because no one even notices them, none of the patrons anyway. But when they get to the two very large, very serious looking guards, one of them steps in Robert’s way while the other places a hand firmly in the center of Aaron’s chest. 

“There’s no Shadowhunters allowed, Mr. Dingle. You know that,” the guard that’s pretending to hold Aaron back says. But instead of showing even the slightest bit of trepidation, Aaron just raises his head and smiles. 

His eyes grow brighter with the expression, and then brighter still until they’re lighting up the space around them with their glow. And Robert can tell the guards are going to do exactly what Aaron wants them to do long before Aaron says smoothly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t see any Shadowhunters here.” 

The guard, a warlock himself judging by the horns on his bald head, nods loosely at Aaron, his voice a monotone drone now as he says, “Yes, Mr. Dingle, sir. I don’t know how I could’ve been mistaken. Please, come in.” 

The red velvet rope is quite literally pulled back for them, and Robert is not oblivious to the momentous nature of his presence in this club, one that strictly prohibits people of his kind from entering. But more than anything right now, his mind is reeling over what Aaron just did. 

“I can’t believe you just used your Jedi mind trick on those guards!” Robert shouts over the loud, harsh gothic punk that’s filtering through the speakers of the club. 

Aaron looks up at him with something like annoyance in his expression. “If that’s some kinda Star Trek reference or whatever-”

“Star  _ Wars  _ reference,” Robert interrupts. “But I’ll forgive you for not knowing the difference this time.” 

Robert winks at Aaron then, causing Aaron to roll his eyes in a way that Robert always manages to find attractive rather than obnoxious. 

“Whatever,” Aaron says. “Let’s just hope it works on the guards in the back.” 

Robert doesn’t ask what Aaron’s talking about, mostly because he doesn’t have time to before they’re slipping off down some dark, muffled side hall and making their way to a door guarded by two even more intimidating warlocks. 

Despite Aaron’s misgivings, though, these two seem to be just as easy to get past as the first two. And it makes Robert wonder about the rumours of Aaron’s power, the limits that seemed to be tested in that warehouse the other night, and just what exactly is brewing in Aaron’s gorgeously unassuming body. 

The guards had been protecting what looks to be a pretty standard back room that could be found in any club in the country. The only difference here being the fact that this one is starkly empty of anything except a scorched-up wooden flood. 

“Make sure nobody comes back here while I’m gone,” Aaron says as he takes off his bomber jacket to reveal a dark gray henley so tight it looks painted on. 

“I don’t believe we ever agreed that you’d be going alone,” Robert tries one last time because he has to. He can’t, in good conscience, allow Aaron to travel unaccompanied to a hell dimension. If something were to happen to him…

“I need to do this alone, Robert,” he says from his knees, his eyes trailing up Robert’s body until they land on his face. And the only reason that Robert agrees is because of his eyes. 

They’re not shining like they were before. Aaron is not trying to magic Robert away, despite the fact that he quite evidently could. He’s just asking,  _ pleading  _ maybe even if he’s reading the expression correctly, and so Robert just nods whilst praying that he’s not making the wrong decision here. 

Aaron nods back as well before looking down at the ground beneath him, running his hands over some sort of sigil carved into the floor. His voice scared, if Robert wants to admit it - which he doesn’t - as he tosses Robert his mobile and says, “If I’m not back in an hour, call my uncle.” 

“And tell him what?” Robert asks through a shaky voice of his own. 

Aaron looks up at him again, tries to smile in a way that only makes Robert feel  _ less  _ enthused before saying, “Tell him that he was right.” 

And then, the whole room erupts in fire.

~*~

Aaron jumps through the hole in the floor, feels the portal tug on his magic, try to pull it clear from his bones before he lands in a crouch in the middle of Edom. 

He breathes. Splays his fingers over the ground, keeps his eyes shut and just  _ breathes  _ for a few long, greedy moments before he opens his eyes and sees…

An office. A plain, tacky, wood-paneled office with olive green fabric chairs and gaudy floral wallpaper. And to understand Aaron’s surprise, you’d have to know what it was like the last and only time he took a trip to this particular hell dimension. 

He’d been surrounded by flames then. By the screams of the dead, the wails of adults and children alike filling his ears as each layer of his skin peeled off with every second he spent breathing the ashen air. 

Now, it’s like the sixties puked all over the place. 

“May I help you?” an unexpectedly friendly voice asks him. 

There’s a secretary behind a desk at one end of the room, a bloody  _ secretary.  _ But before Aaron can even get to his feet and try to explain to this harmless looking woman why he’s here, a door to his right opens up. 

“It’s alright, Sally. My son has just come by for a little visit, haven’t you, Aaron?” the man - Asmodeus - asks, nodding his remarkably human looking head in Aaron’s direction. 

“Yeah. A little visit,” he replies with a nod of his own as he tracks his eyes over his father’s appearance. The slicked back hair and face full of stubble. The smattering of gray at his temples. The three piece suit in pristine condition. 

Before, he’d had horns as big as Aaron’s head. He’d had the body of a bull and the talons of a giant hawk. Before, his skin was covered in burn wounds and bullet holes. 

Needless to say, it’s a bit of a switch. 

“This way,” Asmodeus says, tipping his head good naturedly towards his office. And despite Aaron’s shock, he’s got no choice but to follow him. 

The intel is what’s important now. His own discomfort can wait. 

“Do you like it?” Asmodeus asks once they’re inside his office, the door shutting on its own behind Aaron. 

He stretches his arms out, turns in a circle like he’s trying to show the place off. But Aaron’s not here for conversations. For platitudes. For lies. So he says roughly, “I came here to see if you knew anything about the killings in the Downworld. If you want to talk about anything else… well then that’s my cue to leave.” 

Asmodeus turns around to face him, a frown on his lips when he says, “I thought you’d enjoy this, seeing as how this is what offices looked like the last time you graced me with your presence.” 

“Nothing about this is enjoyable for me,” he hisses back. “If I had it my way, I’d never set foot in this bloody place ever again.” 

“But you need me,” Asmodeus finishes for him, his voice slick and his expression even slicker as he smiles at Aaron and crosses his arms over his chest in something like victory. 

Aaron sucks a deep breath in through his nose before admitting, “I need you.” 

There’s something of the charred, crimson demon in him when he smiles back at Aaron in satisfaction. And all Aaron can do is remind himself why he’s here. Imagine the faces of the dead and remind himself of all the avenues he’s exhausted already. 

Asmodeus is literally his last hope. And no matter how much it kills him to know that, he’s not got much choice. 

“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Asmodeus says in a tone that’s far too friendly to be anything of the sort. 

“And what do I have to do for you?” Aaron asks. 

Asmodeus shrugs. “Nothing, son. Nothing at all.” 

“You really expect me to believe that?” 

Asmodeus drops his arms to his sides at that, shoves his hands in his pockets in a way that’s so human Aaron’s almost tricked into believing that he is one before saying, “Believe what you want. But this little tete-a-tete comes absolutely free of charge.” 

“And why’s that?” Aaron asks, always one for looking gift horses in the mouth. 

“Can’t I just do something nice for my son?” 

Aaron scoffs. “I’m not your son.” 

“What, you’d rather claim that filthy rapist as your father? He’s here, you know.” He points at his chest. “Burning in hellfire for all eternity. But I suppose you’re too noble to want that fate for anyone, him included.” 

Aaron squirms where he stands, tries to shove the memories, seventy years old, out of his head. Put them in the corner of his mind in their locked box where they belong, to gather dust for decades to come. 

“That’s not why I’m here,” Aaron replies as his skin begins to boil under his clothes even though the temperature in the room hasn’t risen a single degree. 

Asmodeus throws his hands in the air in an exaggerated  _ I give up  _ motion, before saying an almost petulant, “Fine. It’s demons, Aaron. You were right all along. Three of them, to be precise, just like you imagined.” 

Aaron feels something sink inside of him at the fear that his father might not have anything new for him after all. 

“Why would demons be doing this?” he asks. “Why would they be attacking their own?” 

Asmodeus smiles at him again, sly and slick, before saying, “That’s your mistake, son.” 

“What is?” 

He takes a few steps across his office, brings himself within arms reach of Aaron before saying quietly, lowly,  _ dangerously,  _ “Assuming they’re doing it because they want to.” 

Aaron swallows, but not because he’s shocked. There’s been a niggle in the back of his mind for weeks now, maybe even months. One telling him that the demons are somehow being controlled. But warlocks are the only beings powerful enough to do that, and Aaron could never think of a good enough reason for a warlock to want this. 

He could never think of a warlock powerful enough either. 

“I don’t know who is doing it. That’s been blocked from me. But they’re stronger than normal, the demons. When you track them, look for a brighter light and I’m sure you’ll find them easy as pie.” 

Aaron stares at his father for a few long seconds, tries to read the lie in his eyes. But all he sees is death looking back at him, thousands of souls trapped in the body of the demon that fathered him, and all of a sudden Aaron needs to leave. 

Asmodeus isn’t finished with him yet, though. Just before Aaron makes his move, his father’s hand shoots out and grabs hold of his arm, his grip stronger than anything Aaron could hope to break as he practically whispers, “Your disgusting stepfather isn’t the only one I’ve got tucked away in here, you know.” 

Aaron blinks at him, tries to remain impassive. But when Asmodeus’ face turns into a familiar one, his system is flooded with a cold wave of shock. 

He can’t move, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the way Asmodeus is holding him or because of the way Asmodeus now looks exactly like his mum. 

“Love, is that you?” she…  _ he  _ asks. But even though he knows it can’t be her, he still feels familiarity rush over him when she places her hands on his cheeks. 

“Mum?” he can’t help but ask, because maybe… just maybe…

“Oh love, I’ve missed you so much!” she exclaims, letting his face go but only so that she can wrap her arms around his body, pull him in for a bone-crushing hug that reminds him so much of the way she was in the early years after Gordon. When she was so glad to have found him again. 

When she never wanted to let him go. 

“Mum, are you… are you alright?” he asks shakily, forgetting for the moment that this might not actually  _ be  _ his mum. Because it’s too real.  _ She’s  _ too real. And he’s missed her more than he can even put into words. 

“Of course I’m alright. I’ve got you back, haven’t I? What more could I need?” 

He chokes out a sob at that, his whole body shaking with it. And when she pulls back to study his face, there are tears streaking down hers. And Aaron just wants… just wants…

“I’ve been waiting centuries for you,” she says, but even though it’s still her voice, there’s something there, hidden in the cracks, that makes Aaron want to pull away. 

“I thought Cain was it, and he was close, that’s true, but he’s nothing like you, Aaron. There’s no one like you.” 

His body floods with ice water again, his veins thick with it, thudding beneath his skin as he tries to remove himself from her…  _ his  _ grasp. 

“I have her here,” Asmodeus’ voice comes through his mother’s mouth. “I have them all here. Everyone you’ve ever loved. And one day, you will join them.” 

His mum’s appearance changes immediately, her body instantly charred, skin flaking off like it’s tissue paper as her big, brown eyes continue to fill with tears. 

“Aaron,” she chokes out, back to her voice again. “Please, darling. Come home.” And Aaron can’t do this anymore. 

So he shoves Asmodeus off of him, the smell of his mum’s burnt flesh still fresh in his nose as he falls through the door and stumbles into the outer office, calling out the spell for the portal before he’s even settled under its origin point. 

“I’ll have you too, Aaron!” Asmodeus calls out over the sound of the rushing energy waiting to take him home. “You’ll be mine one day, mark my words!” 

And Aaron.... Aaron jumps. 

He stumbles onto the floor of the Woolpack’s back room, gasping for breath and shaking from head to toe. But as exhausted as he is, when someone reaches out to touch him, he’s got enough energy to send a pulse of energy pressing through that person’s body. 

“Aaron!” another familiar voice calls out from across the room. “It’s me!” 

And as the portal closes with no unwelcome visitors following behind, Aaron remembers exactly who  _ me  _ is. 

“Robert?” he asks, his voice a rasp barely loud enough to be heard over the bass thudding in the next room. 

“It’s me,” Robert repeats as he carefully lays his hands on Aaron once again. “I promise. It’s me.” 

Then, and only then, does Aaron let himself break. 

Robert wraps him in his arms as he cries, for his mother, for  _ himself,  _ for everyone tricked into Asmodeus’ web. And he knew this would happen. Cain knew it and  _ he knew it,  _ but that doesn’t make the truth of it all any easier to handle. 

“I need to go,” Aaron bites out after only a few moments of comfort. But when he goes to get to his feet, he stumbles, almost falls flat on his arse again. He would do, in fact, if Robert weren’t there to catch him. 

His voice full of concern that Aaron just wants to erase as he asks, “Aaron, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he says. He has to be. But as he grabs his jacket and pulls it over his shivering body, he knows just how far from fine he actually is. 

He practically bolts out of the club after that, shocked to awakeness by the frigid air outside. And he can feel Robert right on his heels, can feel the warmth of his body emanating outward. And like a switch has been bloody flipped, Aaron knows exactly what he needs. 

He leads Robert back to the alley where they met tonight, has just enough forethought to throw up an invisibility spell around them before he rounds on Robert, grabs him by the collar of his leather jacket, and drags him into his body. 

The kiss is fierce. Hungry. Desperate from both sides until Robert’s body stiffens suddenly and he pulls away. 

“Wait,” he says, placing his hands on Aaron’s shoulders so he can move him backwards a little, giving them both some breathing room. 

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks. His heart flaming pounding in his chest, tearing up his insides as he looks up into Robert’s eyes and  _ aches  _ in a way he’s never felt before. 

“You’re… Aaron, you’re… back there. You were. And now…. I just… I just…”

Aaron kisses him again, this time soft and lingering, a press of lips together and a shared moment of breath before Aaron whispers over Robert’s lips, “I’m fine. I swear it.” 

He pauses, drags his nose over Robert’s cheekbone, and adds, “I want this. I want you. And I’m tired of pretending like I don’t.” 

“Yeah?” Robert asks, all shy and soft in a way that’s so foreign on Robert it makes Aaron ache even worse. Want him even  _ more.  _

And so instead of answering with words, he answers again with his lips, the kiss soft at first before Robert moans into his mouth and everything becomes desperate again. 

They stumble their way over to the wall of the club, Aaron’s back pressed to brick this time and it feels good, feels  _ grounding  _ to have Robert’s body envelop him like this. Blotting out the moon and shrinking everything down to Robert’s cold fingers sneaking up under Aaron’s shirt and jacket. 

He hisses, but he pulls Robert back in immediately when he tries to move away. His body working of its own accord as he hooks a leg around the back of Robert’s and pulls him in even tighter. 

He feels like he’s losing his mind. Like every second that Robert kisses him, that Robert touches him, is one less second of sanity. But he can’t find it in him to care as he works on the button and zip of Robert’s trousers, in a desperate plea to get inside. 

When he goes to shove them down, though, they stick to Robert’s upper thighs. His boxers and his trousers just bloody  _ stuck  _ as Aaron murmurs a string of curse words directly into Robert’s mouth. 

“Here, let me,” Robert says with a breathless laugh. And with a bit more maneuvering, Aaron can finally get his hand around Robert’s cock. 

Robert groans loudly when Aaron strokes him, thrusting forward into Aaron’s fist. And he knew from the off that this was gonna be quick, that it was gonna be messy. Which is why he lets Robert go so he can get his own jeans off as much as he needs to. 

He grabs Robert’s shoulders at that, hefts himself up so that his legs are wrapped awkwardly around Robert’s waist. And to his credit, it doesn’t take Robert long at all to figure out where Aaron is going with this. 

Robert wraps one large hand around both of them, slicks them up with precum and begins pumping as Aaron does his best to hold on. And it’s quick, like he thought, it’s messy, like he thought, but it’s also so bloody perfect Aaron could cry. 

“Fuck, Aaron,” Robert breathes into his neck between kisses pressed to hot, feverish skin. And Aaron would answer him back if he weren’t so lost at the moment, wrapped up in all things Robert in a way that, for the first time in ages, makes his mind go completely blank. 

He comes without even expecting it, spills between them and feels the way Robert shudders through his own orgasm. But even when they’re finished, he can’t seem to slide back to the ground just yet. His breath hitching in his throat as Robert grabs his thighs and holds him up more steadily than he’d been before. 

“God, Aaron, what did you do?” Robert asks breathlessly as he peppers Aaron’s jaw with gentle, teasing kisses. 

“What… what do you mean?” 

“Your magic,” Robert says, bringing his face around so he can look Aaron in the eye, taking a hand off one thigh so he can drag his fingers back through Aaron’s sweat-slick hair. 

“What the hell was that?” 

“What do you… I didn’t do anything,” Aaron says in confusion, his body starting to ache now in a way that forces him to finally get his feet back on solid ground. 

Robert’s eyes squint at him, then widen in what looks like astonishment as he says, “So that… that was just you?” 

Aaron nods, causing Robert to bite out this surprised little, “Fuck,” before he’s kissing Aaron again, hard and bruising. 

“Please say we’re doing that again,” Robert declares on a laugh once he’s finished with Aaron’s mouth. 

And Aaron… well, he really can’t think of a better way to spend the night, can he?


	6. Chapter 6

When Robert asked Aaron to please say they were doing that again -  _ that _ being getting each other off in a grotty alley behind the Woolpack with hopefully some sort of invisibility spell in place, not like Robert cared - he didn’t really mean  _ right then.  _ As in  _ please say we’re doing that again right at this very moment.  _ Mostly because he couldn't imagine his luck being that good. 

He doesn’t fault Aaron, though, when he opens a portal behind Robert and shoves him through. And he doesn’t say no either. Because he’s not an idiot, now is he? 

His very tight, very sticky trousers are still shoved around his thighs, which causes him to stumble backwards into… a bed. At least he hopes it’s a bed colliding with the backs of his knees. If not, he’s in for a very uncomfortable fall. 

The mattress is softer than he imagined it would be when he lands on the  _ yes it’s a bed, Robert.  _ Which is funny because he didn’t even know he had  _ opinions  _ on Aaron’s mattress choices until this very second. 

Somewhere in the back of his brain, apparently, whenever he imagined getting to see this mythical place known as Aaron Dingle’s Flat, he pictured a far more puritanical bed. Maybe just a slab of concrete with a single pillow if he was lucky. Not something that’s plushness can rival Robert’s bed back at the Institute. 

It’s not a bad position to be in, lying flat on his back, staring up at Aaron’s very plain ceiling, the lights from the portal dancing over the stark white paint. And his position only gets more favourable when Aaron follows him through the portal.  _ His  _ jeans pulled up around his waist now - cheater - as he crawls on top of Robert like he’s stalking prey and settles in, clearly intent on staying awhile. 

“Yes,” Robert says as Aaron leans in to kiss him again. 

Aaron rears back slightly, looking down at Robert like he’s only just recently gone mad. “Yes what?” 

“Yes to whatever it is you want to ask me, do to me, or have me do to you, abso-fucking-lutely  _ yes.  _ In case you were wondering.” 

He just came a few minutes ago. His body is still tingling from that frankly spectacular orgasm. But he’s still fairly confident that, given the right encouragement, he could be up for whatever Aaron wants right now. 

Robert smiles up at him, the winningest expression he owns, and breathes a sigh of relief when the left hand corner of Aaron’s lips tick up ever so slightly. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aaron basically purrs, his eyes already dark with what Robert is hoping is lust as he leans back in again and presses his lips firmly into Robert’s. 

It’s like licking a live wire, only you don’t die at the end. You just feel…  _ fuck,  _ you just  _ feel.  _ And Robert has the sudden realisation that he could probably do this for a very,  _ very  _ long time if given half a chance right before he reprimands himself and tells himself to rein it in. 

He’s getting ahead of himself. Too bloody far ahead. But Aaron’s got his hand wrapped around him again, slow pumps pulling Robert to hardness. And so Robert can be forgiven for taking a step or two outside of reality. Sue him, and all that. 

He moves his hands from where they’d mysteriously just been lying by his sides and cups Aaron’s jaw, forcing the kiss deeper until it feels like their mouths, their bodies, their  _ everything  _ is melting together, molten lava and steel becoming one. And Robert doesn’t even know what he’s talking about anymore, what he’s even  _ thinking.  _ He just knows that now he’s got a taste of Aaron, one hit, two hits, three hits… it’ll never be enough. 

Which is why, when Aaron pulls away again to say, “Fuck me, yeah?” the only thing Robert can do is nod his head vigorously. 

He’d be stupid to do anything else. 

~*~

He wakes up in Aaron’s flat to a still dark room and an otherwise empty bed, the sheets cold beside him when he reaches out to pull Aaron into him as if he’s some sort of mad cuddler all of a sudden. 

He isn’t. He never has been. But Aaron’s skin feels like a furnace to the touch, emitting a steady press of warmth into the air around him. And Aaron’s bedroom is otherwise as cold as an icebox. That’s the only reason he wants to hold him. 

He’s not there, though, Aaron isn’t. And based on the state of the sheets it’s been a while since he was. So Robert just lies there for a few minutes, replaying the night up to this point. The alley. The bed. The shower. 

The three times in one night he’s been allowed to have Aaron spread beneath him in one way or another along with the casual, afterthought of the way Aaron had told him he could stay the night if he wanted to like it didn’t matter to him one way or another if he did. 

It matters to Robert. And before he can think too long on what that might mean, he’s sitting up and slipping into his boxers, intent on figuring out where his wayward warlock has gotten to. 

It doesn’t take much to navigate the flat, mostly because it’s fairly small and compact. Which, despite the amount of money he must be making, given his position in the Downworld, still makes sense to Robert. 

He can’t picture him in a penthouse like the one Cain supposedly lives in. Cement slab for a bed and all that. 

He’s in the sitting room, seemingly oblivious to Robert’s presence. There are candles lit all over the room, their flames so plentiful that they’re actually heating up the space around them. Which is all well and good given that Robert forgot to put on a shirt. 

Aaron is kneeling on the floor in the center of the room, drawing furiously on a large blackboard built into the floor itself. His hand still remarkably steady in spite of the way his body seems to shake as he draws a series of sigils into the blackness. 

He lets the chalk fall from his hand unnoticed when he’s done, places his hands, palms down, on the floor and begins to mutter something under his breath that Robert can’t quite catch before a cloud of smoke spreads over the surface in front of him. 

Aaron’s eyes go coal black, startling Robert as he stands there watching Aaron literally work his magic. But whatever Aaron was looking for in the smoke is apparently not found because a few tense minutes later, he slams his palms down on the blackboard and screams the word, “Fuck!” loud enough for the candles in the room to tremor. 

Robert wants to rush to his side, to hold him in his arms, ask him what’s wrong, and soothe him until the problem goes away. But Aaron’s bare shoulders are a series of tense knots rippling down the rest of his body. And something about that body language tells Robert that he should at least wait until Aaron’s eyes are blue again before he tries to approach him. 

That takes another few minutes of Aaron just leaning over the floor, holding himself up and catching his breath, his eyes shut so tight the muscles in his face are straining with it as the smoke dissipates and Robert stays put, waiting for Aaron to give him some sort of sign that it’s okay for him to be there. 

In the end, the sign comes from Aaron’s voice. 

“You don’t have to just stand there, you know,” he says lowly, his voice as rough as gravel like he’s just been screaming for the last hour straight even though he hasn’t. Robert would’ve heard it. 

“I won’t bite.” 

Robert smirks, sees a way to lighten the mood and takes it when he says, “Unless I ask you to, right?” before carefully navigating the room and sitting on the floor a few feet from Aaron, his legs crossed like a child at school. 

His voice is softer now, or as soft as Aaron’s can be when he replies, “If I’m remembering correctly, you were the one doing most of the biting.” 

Robert smiles, ducks his head shyly in a way that’s actually half genuine at least before saying, “Yeah, well, not every day you get to fuck the most powerful warlock in the world.”

“So I’m the most powerful warlock in the  _ world  _ now, am I?” Aaron asks, and Robert can’t tell, mostly because he hasn’t known Aaron long enough yet, but it sounds an awful lot like he’s teasing. Like he’s  _ flirting.  _ And Robert can actually feel his neck and chest flush at the statement. 

“Well, you know, I don’t sleep with just anyone,” Robert says smoothly, trying to keep the game going. But the way Aaron responds with a quiet, “Don’t you?” makes Robert’s stomach sink. 

He turns his head to look at Aaron, maybe explain to him how he’s special (is he?), how this isn’t what he thinks it is. But Robert isn’t even sure if he can tell  _ himself  _ that yet, so instead he just plasters a smile on his face and says, “What are you doing up now anyway? I was sure I’d shagged you into unconsciousness.” 

It’s a poor substitute for what he wanted to say, but it’s far too soon for any of that so he takes it and he owns it like a good little boy. 

Aaron clears his throat and looks back down at the sigils in front of them as if he has no idea how they got there. “Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

“The case?” Robert asks as he scoots closer to where Aaron is still wrapped up like a human pretzel. 

Aaron nods, but still refuses to look at Robert. “Yeah, something my… Asmodeus said.”

“Which was?” Robert asks when it becomes clear Aaron isn’t going to just give the information up on his own. 

Aaron looks at him then, his eyes a little unfocused, like he’s lost somewhere in the back of his head before he clears his throat again and says, “That the demons we’re looking for are stronger than most. That their… lights,” he says, waving his hand around and sounding very much like he wishes there were a better word than the one he used. “They’d be brighter.”

“And are they?” Robert asks even though he already knows the answer to the question. If Aaron had found the demons, he’d be out there right now, killing or apprehending them. Not sitting here chatting with Robert by candlelight. 

Aaron shrugs in response. “I tried all the tracking spells I know and… nothing. I don’t know. Maybe he was lying. Maybe… I don’t know.” 

He sags at that, rearranges his legs so that his knees are pulled up to his chest, pinned there by the way his arms are hugging them. And he looks so soft, for lack of a better word, so  _ vulnerable,  _ that all Robert wants to do is wrap him in his arms and never let him go again. 

There he goes, getting ahead of himself again. 

“Did he seem like he was lying?” Robert asks despite how stupid he knows the question to be. Asmodeus is a bloody greater demon. They lie for a living. 

But Aaron doesn’t seem to think the question is stupid, which is why he just shrugs again and says, “I don’t know. It seemed… it seemed almost like he wanted us to find them. Like he wanted… I don’t know, to help.” 

“That doesn’t make sense, though, right?” Robert asks, taking his cues from the way Aaron is curling further into himself. “I mean, why would he want to help us hunt down his brethren?” 

Aaron looks at him, blinks a few times before looking back at the sigils again. And Robert couldn’t help the way he scoots even  _ closer  _ to Aaron if he tried. 

“Tell me about this,” Robert says instead, changing the subject slightly as he gestures over the blackboard beneath them in the hopes that it’ll pull Aaron out of whatever funk he’s found himself in. “How does this work?” 

Aaron just blinks at him again for a few seconds before something in his eyes begins to focus. His voice a little less lost than before when he says, “The sigils help me narrow down what I’m looking for, and my magic powers the spell, shows me all of the demons that fall under the description I’ve given.” 

“Oh, so it’s like Cerebro,” Robert says with a bit of excitement in his voice. 

Aaron just stares at him, though, utterly confused as he asks, “What’s Cerebro?” 

Robert rolls his eyes because really? Aaron’s been alive for almost eight decades now and he’s never  _ once  _ read an X-Men comic?

“It’s Professor X’s machine for finding mutants. It’s powered by his mental abilities and it can show him where any mutant is in the entire world.” 

Aaron’s eyes narrow at that, his face pulling into the grumpy one that Robert has already seemingly fallen for, before he says, “You really are a nerd, aren’t you?” 

Robert sits up straighter and puffs his chest out because, “Hell yes, I’m a nerd,” and he’s bloody well proud of it, too. 

“C’mon,” Aaron says before popping suddenly and easily to his feet, his hand outstretched to Robert like he thinks Robert needs helping up. Which he probably does, judging by the way his joints all pop as he gets to his feet. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, even though he’s got a pretty good idea, judging by the heat in Aaron’s expression. 

Aaron blinks once, snuffing every single candle simultaneously and shrouding them in moonlight before he tips up on his toes and says right against Robert’s lips, “Where do you bloody think?” 

~*~

It’s been three weeks since Aaron met with Asmodeus. Three weeks he’s been searching for killers that have seemingly gone into hiding. Which is good in one way, because nobody else has died since then. But Aaron can’t catch them if they don’t come out into the open, now can he? 

It’s been three weeks since Aaron’s been sleeping with Robert as well. And he’s not entirely sure what’s standard for Robert, how long it takes him to get bored and move onto someone else. But for the time being, Aaron finds that he actually likes someone warming his bed for a change, even if he knows it’s not permanent. 

Maybe  _ because  _ he knows it’s not permanent. 

It doesn’t hurt that the sex has been pretty damn amazing, not like he’d ever tell Robert that, of course. His ego is already big enough to blanket the whole of London, maybe even the whole of England. 

But there’s just something about the way they fit together, how they can read what each other wants without asking, how they move like two halves of the same person. It sounds stupid and romantic and soft and all the things Aaron hates, but still it  _ makes sense.  _

Robert is the best shag Aaron has ever had. 

But that’s all it can be and Aaron knows it, because that’s all Robert ever  _ wants.  _ He’s heard the stories, time and time again. Sex means nothing to Robert Sugden. It’s just a pastime for him. A hobby. And Aaron just has to make sure that he remembers that going forward. 

Aaron is a toy that Robert likes playing with… for now. And right now he’s playing a very slow game with this particular toy, warming Aaron up slowly with soft kisses and gently wandering hands that seem to be driving Aaron literally mad. 

He wants to scream at him, tell him to get on with it, but he’s somehow gotten lost in the flow of it, making his voice catch in his throat. 

It’s right around the time Robert is moving toward Aaron’s cock, right around the time things are starting to properly heat up, that an alarm begins to shriek in Aaron’s head. 

Literally. 

It’s a literal alarm. 

“Shit,” he bites out as he shoves Robert off of him so he can sit up and put on his boxers. 

“What?” Robert asks almost sleepily from where he’s still lying on the bed like sin personified.

Aaron doesn’t even turn to face him, mostly because he’s looking for his jeans, as he says, “Get your clothes on, Robert. We’ve gotta move.” 

“Move where?” he asks, still so sluggish it’s like he’s been drugged. Which would be satisfying if not for the fact that they’re in a bloody hurry here. 

Aaron whips around to face him, willing to give him two seconds of explanation if it means he’ll actually get up and  _ stop being naked.  _

“Remember that alarm I told you about? The one I set up with the tracking spell?”

“The one that’s supposed to tell you if the brighter demons show up?” Robert asks, finally sounding clearer  _ thank god.  _

“It’s going off, Robert. Which is why we need to  _ move,  _ now.” 

“Shit,” Robert echoes Aaron’s earlier sentiment as he finally scrambles off the bed, throwing clothes on haphazardly until they’re both dressed enough to be out in public. And Aaron is  _ so glad  _ that Robert doesn’t go anywhere without his weapons because at least they’ll both be of some use here. 

They’re stronger than normal demons, that’s what Asmodeus had said. But that’s not gonna stop them tonight if Aaron has anything to say about it. 

They step through the portal a few minutes later, stumbling in the darkness of yet another nondescript warehouse somewhere in London. But they don’t stop to so much as  _ breathe  _ before they’re moving through the building, looking for their targets. 

They find them in an old office on the third floor, three demons - a  Baigujing, an Iblis, and an Achaieral, just like Aaron thought - huddled over their newest victim. But even though Aaron can’t see the victim just yet, he knows that they’ll be dead in minutes if he and Robert don’t do something. 

Before he can make a move, though, Robert shouts, “Hey, idiots, why don’t you pick on someone your own size, eh?” because he is, also, an idiot. One that Aaron is ashamed to admit he’s grown quite fond of. 

The demons all turn to face Aaron and Robert, which was obviously Robert’s intended goal. But there’s something about them, about their eyes in particular, that chills Aaron to the bone. 

There’s usually emotion there. Dumb emotion, sure, like you’re looking into the eyes of a particularly stupid attack dog who doesn’t know any better. But the coldness, the emptiness in the eyes of these three demons is unsettling beyond anything Aaron had prepared himself for. 

All five of them move at the same time, culminating in a mass of limbs, swords, fireballs, shrieks and grunts that feel something like vindication to Aaron. Because they can beat them. They’re strong, yeah, but he and Robert are  _ stronger.  _

And so when he shouts, “Keep at least one alive!” so they have someone to interrogate, he knows without a shadow of doubt that they’ll be able to do just that. 

That’s when everything goes to hell. When Aaron is standing there feeling smug like he’s got any right, all three of the demons mysteriously back off. And then something really flipping weird happens: All three of them reach into their chests - or where their chests should be - and pull out what Aaron can only assume are their own hearts. 

They burst into flames at that, but not before Aaron catches sight of something around the Achaieral’s neck. A collar, simple metal and nothing more. But Aaron’s never seen a demon wear something like it before and so he can’t imagine it’s a coincidence now. 

It all goes up in smoke. No demon to interrogate, no evidence to investigate. Just ash and dust and a job that only feels half finished at best. 

It’s all they’re gonna get tonight, though, so he turns to the victim on the floor behind him, his steps stuttering when he sees who it is, shredded and bloody like all the victims before. 

“Ed,” he breathes out, the word little more than a puff of oxygen before he’s on his knees next to Ed, pressing his hands into the worst of the wounds like that’s gonna make a damn bit of difference. 

“Aaron, did you see,” Robert starts to ask as Aaron uses all his strength to pull on Ed’s life force, drag him back to the land of the living. 

“I did,” he shouts back over the rushing in his own head. As in,  _ yes, Robert, I did see what just happened, I’m not blind, thank you very much.  _

“They just,” Robert says, still incapable of complete sentences. 

“I know what they did, Rob.”

Robert’s head snaps to Aaron at that, possibly because of the nickname which is something Aaron files away for future use. Lord knows Robert has the attention span of a goldfish sometimes. 

“But why would they,” he adds, still not finishing any of his questions. 

And Aaron is fed up with this little game, so he snaps, “I don’t know,  _ Rob,  _ but could you just help me please?” 

“Right,” Robert bites out before crouching down on Ed’s other side. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Try and stop the bleeding while I-”

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” he interrupts, pressing his palms to Ed’s bare chest (he must have been in bed when they took him) as Aaron continues to use every bit of power he has to pull Ed back. 

“Come on, Ed,” Aaron practically whines when he sees the skin of Ed’s cheek begin to turn to ash. That’s not the end of it, though. There’s a patch on his chest, one on his hip, and Aaron’s voice sounds panicked as hell when he hisses, “You’re not dying on me, you fucking bastard.” 

He keeps working, feels the sweat dripping down his face, the back of his neck, the ache in his body, a strain like no other, but none of that matters. He already lost Holly to this shit. There’s no way he’s losing another person he cares about even if he’s never entirely sure if Ed falls into that category or not. 

“Live,” he says as he shuts his eyes and pulls harder than before, his insides shattering with the strain. “Please, fucking live.” 

And just like that, Ed is sucking in a sharp breath that turns immediately to a hacking cough. And Aaron could collapse for a lot of reasons - relief, exhaustion, you name it - but he stays upright so he can look across at Robert and say, “Thank you.” 

“I didn’t do anything, Aaron,” Robert says in that awe-filled way that never fails to make Aaron feel about as comfortable as if he were sitting on a chair filled with spikes. He takes it for now, though, mostly because he’s too tired to do anything else. As evidenced by the way he stumbles as he gets to his feet. 

“Hey, easy there,” Robert says softly as he catches Aaron’s elbow, holding him steady. “Just… take a breath, will ya?” 

“No, I’m gonna… gonna get him home,” Aaron counters before leaning down to pick Ed up. And by some miracle - and Robert’s help - he’s able to get Ed upright, one arm slung around his waist and his other gripping Ed’s arm. 

“Let me help you,” Robert tries once he lets Ed’s weight fall completely on Aaron. 

“No, you… you go home. I got this.” 

Robert looks like he wants to argue, which is not exactly a rare occurrence with him. Aaron cuts it off with a weak smile, though, because Robert’s job here is done. Aaron can handle the rest. 

“Fine,” he says, backing off reluctantly. And before Robert can change his mind, Aaron opens a portal to Ed’s flat. 

“Thank you,” Aaron says, pausing just on the precipice of the portal so he can look back at Robert and smile a bit more genuinely than before. 

“For what?” 

Aaron shrugs. “For everything?” And with that, he’s stepping through the portal and leaving Robert behind. 

~*~

It takes a few hours for Ed to wake up and an hour or two after that for him to be cognizant enough for Aaron to feel comfortable leaving him alone. 

He’ll have to question him eventually. Ed is the only surviving victim of these attacks, so he might know something. But the sun is already up and Aaron just wants to spend the next twenty-four hours face down on his bed, so he goes.

He doesn’t take a portal, mostly because the energy it would take to open one is greater than the energy it would take to walk home. And besides, he could use the fresh air, sharp and cold, to clear his head. 

There’s someone sitting on his steps when he finally gets home, and it only takes a second for him to realize who it is. Which is probably why his steps falter.

He’s too tired for this. 

“What are you doing here?” Aaron asks once he’s close enough to be heard. 

Robert’s head pops up at that, like he didn’t clock Aaron coming from a block away. 

“I came to see how you were doing,” he says innocently enough. And Aaron’s bed is  _ so close,  _ just up a few flights of stairs. So he sighs deeply and says, “I’m not up for sex right now, Robert.” 

You’d actually think Aaron just slapped him for the way Robert reacts to that. 

“I didn’t come here for sex, Aaron,” he almost snaps, his voice clearly hurt which is a weird thing to hear from him. “I came to see if you were okay. The last time you exerted yourself like that you almost died. Sue me if I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen again.” 

They stare at each other for a few long moments, frozen in time, before Aaron shakes himself out of the fugue and says, “How did you know I wouldn’t take a portal home?” 

Robert shrugs, his face still all petulant and moody as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and says, “You never use your magic unless you have to. Figured it was a safe bet you’d be walking home tonight.” 

Aaron huffs at that, not quite a laugh but not quite  _ not  _ one, before asking, “You really just came to check on me?” 

Robert rolls his eyes with such a sense of exaggerated drama that Aaron wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up in the back of his head. 

“Can you just… can I just,” Robert mumbles before closing the gap between them and wrapping Aaron in his arms so gently it’s as if he thinks Aaron is made of glass. 

Aaron needs more, though. Aaron needs  _ him.  _ And so he hooks his chin over Robert’s shoulder and drags him in so that there’s no room for air between their bodies. 

“‘M tired,” Aaron says as Robert buries his face in the crook of Aaron’s neck. 

“I know,” he says, his lips soft where they press into Aaron’s skin. “So let me just… let me just hold you, yeah?” 

Aaron nods, too tired for words as he is, before he does just what Robert asks. He takes Robert up to his flat and he lets him hold him all day as he sleeps off the last few months of hell. 

In the end, it’s far better than lying there alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone!


End file.
